


How A Cat Shows Love (ABANDONED)

by VincentMeoblinn



Series: Finish Me [15]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal, Angry Sex, Anthropomorphic, Cat Ears, Cat Language, Cat Sherlock, Catlock, Control Issues, Frottage, Futuristic, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Master/Pet, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutism, Oral, Pet Play Sort Of, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Bond, Rimming, Sign Language, petting, sort of, space travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-02-26 14:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John’s therapist advised him to get a dog to deal with his post-discharge depression, but when he goes to the store he doesn’t quite take her advice. (Takes place in the future. Think Star Trek. Won’t go into it overmuch at first, but eventually we take to space!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John had never been big on pets. He’d had a dog as a kid, but it had been a smelly mutt who had chewed up his toys and pissed on his bed. They’d not been close. Why his mother had wanted him John had no idea, but now that he was older and knew what many people used pets for he did his best not to think of it. Now John’s therapist had pestered him into getting a pet to ease his depression and get him into a routine since his discharge.

The thing with pets is they often came with stigma, because why would you want a nearly person-sized pest in your home eating your food if they weren’t contributing in some way? So it was common knowledge that horses had a use (labour) and birds were helpful (free mail service) and even a well trained dog could be for more than one thing (housework) but a cat… cats were useful for only one thing. Companionship: usually not the innocent kind.

 

So why am I standing by the cat cages? John wondered, staring down at them, Aside from the fact my mom had a dog and I can’t afford a horse…

“Where are the birds?” John wondered outloud. A clerk pointed them towards them.

John stood by the bird cages for a bit with his hands over his ears. They were incredibly loud, and one of the few pets capable of vocal speech. They were tittering, some of them not able to say much more than ‘food’ and ‘fly’, but also singing, whistling, and most of all fluttering. They ruffled their feathered wings and jostled John as they darted around and over him. The biggest was two feet tall and tried to snatch up his cane.

“Mine! Mine!” She screamed, pulling at it with two-clawed feat. He supposed she was attractive with her blue-green feathers and two-toned eyes, but he was rather inclined to beat her with his cane than surrender it.

“Not really!” John snapped, jerking it free and bolting for the cage door. He got into the middle cage, shutting it behind him as they scrabbled for it and shrieked to be let out. He quickly left out the second door and stumbled into the hall.

“They calm down when you get them home,” A clerk chuckled, “They’re just miserable because they’re all locked up in a small space together. The pink one keeps ripping out the yellow one’s feathers. We’re going to have to put him down if he keeps that up.”

“Good,” John replied, “You might want to put down the green and blue one too. She’s a real bitch.”

The clerk gave him a disgusted and outraged look and John stomped off to look at the dogs. Nope. Still not on. He checked on the horses, hoping for a cheep old one, and smiled fondly at a sleepy donkey. That was an option. The goats were trying to eat their cages. Nope. Then he wandered back to the cats. A curvy tabby with sultry eyes moved her tail lazily from her cage, crooking her finger and doing that slow-blink that the nearby chart of ‘cat signs’ told him was a way to say ‘welcome’. She looked welcoming all right! Moving on. An orange cat with a rotund belly slept on a pile of blankets and gave him a look that clearly said ‘not on your life’ without even bothering to open both eyes- no chart needed to figure him out! The third… the third was sitting up straight with a black, grey, and white coat that for all the world looked like a fine, bespoke suit. His eyes darted around the room suspiciously and when they fell on John they narrowed in scrutiny. John froze, instinctively going to attention under such a commanding gaze before laughing at himself and relaxing a bit.

“Well, aren’t you a bit like my former CO?” John chuckled, “If your name is Sholto that will settle it for me.”

John red the label, “Sherlock? Starts the same, so close enough. Would you like to come home with me, Sherlock?”

The cat’s whiskers twitched and he flicked his ears forwards. John consulted the chart.

“So that means either ‘a positive response’ or ‘I want food’,” John nodded, “I can see how those two could go together, and it seems a pretty clear answer to me. I’ll get the clerk.”

The clerk came when John called, his face telling John he didn’t want to sell him a pet after his earlier outburst so when he put up a fuss John wasn’t surprised.

“You want him?” The clerk stammered, “He’s to be put down today.”

“All the more reason to take him.”

“You don’t understand; he isn’t suited for a home. He’s been returned twice from homes that have other cats.”

John shrugged, “He’s probably sick of cat company. I haven’t got another cat so that won’t be a problem.”

“I meant that experienced cat people couldn’t handle him! He refused to play, preferring to escape their houses and harass people and wild animals. He escaped the vet who was trying to neuter him…”

“I thought neutering was reserved for extreme situations!” John gaped.

“Well, he refused to have sex with either owner or breed the females, but insisted on harassing the other toms so…”

“So he’s gay and not interested in interspecies sex, therefore he’s useless as a pet,” John scowled.

“What?” The owner stammered, “No! I didn’t mean…! That’s not what…!”

“Are you going to sell him to me or not?”

John glanced down at the cage to relay to the cat how annoyed the man was making him to find the lock on the cage- the thumbprint lock- had been removed and the cat was standing by his side. He was a surprisingly tall, coming up to John’s shoulder as he stared up at him beneath a mop of curly black hair. His furred, pink nose wriggled. John glanced at the chart again. It was a gesture of annoyance, apparently. Or a bad smell. John sniffed himself and decided the creature was annoyed.

“You’re getting on his nerves. I’m leaving with him whether you sell him to me or not.”

“Fine. Five pounds,” The man scoffed, “That’s just for the tags. You can’t return him if I don’t sell him to you!”

“Deal,” John grinned, feeling as if he’d gotten a rather fantastic deal.

John paid the man, and slipped a leash onto the collar the clerk wrestled onto the hissing creature’s neck, and led him out the door. He slipped the collar the second the door shut behind them but didn’t bolt when John gave him a narrow glare. He continued to walk beside him, occasionally dropping to all fours to pause and sniff at something as they made their slow way home. John watched his tail twitch from side to side, usually staying low to the ground as he walked along, but occasionally perking to upright when he glanced at John. John smiled as he stared down at his pamphlet. The back was a list of cat signs with pictures and apparently a raised tail was a friendly gesture. The lowered tail worried John as it meant he was unhappy. Perhaps he was just moody? Or sick?

John recalled that his old school chum Mike had transferred over to veterinary work and determined to look him up once he got home. For now they walked into his flat and Sherlock scampered off to introduce himself to his new home. He rubbed up on the furniture, scratched at the drapes, and immediately found the chair that got the most sun and collapsed into it. John chuckled at his apparent lack of bones as he twisted about on the dark furniture and arranged himself over the back of the chair to maximize the amount of light he could get.

“You hungry?” John chuckled.

Sherlock indicated an affirmative and John went to get him a bowl and stared into the fridge. He had no cat food. I didn’t think this through very well, did I?

John turned to ask the cat if he’d eat some leftover chicken only to find the chair was empty. The cat was gone. So were the keys to his flat.


	2. Chapter 2

John had just resigned himself to having lost his cat when the creature strolled in on two legs with John’s keys in his paw and a squirrel thrown over his shoulder. A dead squirrel. He tossed the squirrel up onto the kitchen table, climbed up on top of him, and started chowing down. John walked around the gory scene in horror, staring at the sight in mute fascination. The squirrel was a good two feet long not including his tail, thankfully had no collar, and his little face was screwed up in horror.

“You killed him yourself?” John asked, noting the look of irritation on the cat’s face, “I’ll take that as a ‘yes, you idiot’. Okay. I guess I don’t have to buy food for you?”

The cat’s tail flicked in obvious irritation and he hissed at John. John sighed and walked away, “I don’t suppose you’ll clean that up after?”

No answer, of course, but John didn’t expect him to. Sure enough when the cat wandered in to stretch out on the couch and groom the blood and gore John rose to find a head, entrails, and fur left behind on his table. It was spread out like a science project.

“You’re scary,” John decided, “Scary and living with me.”

John sighed and decided to turn in. He had locum work at a nearby clinic to supplement his pension which he sorely needed to keep in order to continue living at his comfortable flat on Baker Street. Unfortunately the cat hadn’t gotten that memo. Sherlock spent the night attacking his bed. Attacking it with his ears thrown back and a look of complete outrage on his face, as if the box spring had insulted his mother. John tried shouting at him, spraying him with water, chasing him away, smacking him with a newspaper, and hissing in an approximation of cat dialect. The cat would run off each time, wait until he’d drifted off to sleep, and then come back to assault the box spring again. Finally he got through the outer fabric and attacked the mattress innards itself, plucking it loudly like a string as he tried to move it out of his way to continue burrowing into the underside of John’s bed. John moaned in agony, a pillow squashed over his head, but the horrid twanging sound vibrated through the bed.

John locked Sherlock in the bathroom, acquiring a fair few scratches and bites along the way, but he was out the second John drifted off again! He tried to pen him, locking him in a large wire cage he’d purchased a week ago when he’d still been in the thinking stages of pet ownership. He escaped that, too. Finally John gave up and surrendered the bed to the cat, grumbling about how he’d survived Afghanistan to be tortured into submission by a five-foot furball, and collapsed onto the sofa.

The next morning John woke up late and had to rush to get to work on time, taking an expensive hover cab to the clinic. He spent the day yawning and trying not to drift off, yet still managed to score a date with one of the other doctors. Saraf was a charming Indian man who took the shift just before John’s, so they only saw each other for a couple of hours a day. He was the man who had hired him and John had been hot for him from the door.

 

John left from his shift straight to his date, glad his rush that morning had meant he’d brought his deodorant with him. The circus was a rush, especially the part where they nearly shot someone, but to John’s surprise he saw someone creeping around in the shadows. John was pulled from the audience and lashed to the bulls-eye before he could point out the intruder. He shrugged it off as a part of the act and grinned down the knife thrower… who was promptly tackled by a hissing, snarling, black and white blur. John struggled in his bonds, swearing angrily as the cat was pried off of the knife-thrower. He nearly had himself free when the poor cat was lifted up and shaken  _violently._

“Leave him alone!” John shouted, “That’s my cat! Leave him _alone!_ ”

John pried one hand free, grabbed a knife buried in the board beside his opposite shoulder, and threw it Sherlock’s assailants. The knife skimmed the knife-thrower’s shoulder, as John had intended, and his head shot up in alarm.

“Leave. My. Cat.  _Alone_ ,” John snarled, “He’s half your size and _terrified_!”

Sherlock didn’t look scared, he looked pissed off. Then intrigued.

“Untie me!” John barked at the man as he dropped Sherlock.

He needn’t have bothered with his order as Sherlock landed easily on all fours and darted over to him, climbing his body and snapping the cords with his teeth. Security had made their way over and there was a lot of shouting going on, mentioning of solicitors, and an extremely angry cat hissing and yowling in outrage at John’s feet with his back arched. The police showing up to break up the illegal circus ring stopped everything in it’s tracks and John grabbed Sherlock by his scruff to toss him over his shoulder. The cat twisted out of his grip, grabbed his hand in one paw with his long, clawed digits wrapping around his tightly, and pulled him towards a ladder. John shouted for Saraf who followed him up the ladder to the rafters of the old abandoned theatre. There they scurried to the other side of a rickety catwalk and Sherlock led them through a trap door onto the rooftops. John laughed as he chased the feline over the stone and tar until they ran out of roof. Sherlock jumped it. John hesitated, backed up a bit, and took a running leap with a whoop of excitement. He barely caught himself on the other side. Saraf sailed over his head and landed with a roll.

“Ow,” Saraf grunted, grinning as he stood up to help John scramble the rest of the way onto the other roof. Sherlock sniffed at John’s face as he knelt on the gravel but a shout from the opposite roof had them all scurrying off again. A quick scramble down a fire escape left them to hail a hover cab and hurry home to John’s flat before anyone caught them.

Saraf and John laughed happily as they stumbled into John’s flat together, leaning against the wall and grinning at each other. Sherlock was down at John’s feet, rubbing against his legs and purring.

“Well, so you  _can_ be friendly,” John chuckled, leaning forward to give his head a scratch. Sherlock bounced up a bit and rubbed his face against John’s hand eagerly, “And protective.”

“I can’t believe he found you and attacked someone! I’ve heard of  _dogs_  being protective of their owners, but cats?” Saraf asked.

“He’s unique, that’s for sure,” John chuckled, then turned to find Saraf leaning forward with a hungry look on his face. John grinned and eagerly met his lips, guiding him towards the couch while nipping at his lips.

Sherlock did  _not_  approve. He tripped them, causing them to topple onto the floor, John groaning in pain. Saraf helped him up while tossing Sherlock an irritated look.

 

“We can lock him out of the bedroom,” John tried. Saraf grinned and nodded.  _Holy shit, I’m going to get more than a snog!_

John practically tackled him when they got to the bedroom, desperate for his first tender human touch in months. They were tugging each other’s clothes off when a rattling sound distracted Saraf.

“I think your cat wants in.”

“He can deal,” John grunted, “He’s not that kind of cat anyway.”

“Good to know,” Saraf chuckled, “I get jealous easily.”

John grinned and found a nipple to suck on just as the door creaked open. John’s head flew up but he didn’t see Sherlock, just an empty doorway.

“Did he…?”

Saraf was staring at the door with a disturbed look on his face, “He wasn’t on the other side. I saw it clearly. No one there.”

“There has to be,” John replied, then adopted a joking tone, “I think I’d know it by now if I had ghosts.”

“Yeah,” Saraf laughed, looking back at John, “I guess we should get back t-  _look out!_ ”

Something grabbed John by his hair and dragged him off the bed and onto the floor. John was left staring at the underside of his own bed. No one was there. With the hair raised on the back of his neck, John scrambled back on the bed, casting about in alarm. Saraf was on his feet and plastered against the headboard and the wall behind it. He looked terrified. John probably looked the same.

“Did you see it?”

“J-just a black blur. Where the hell did it go?”

“No idea. What was it?”

“It wasn’t your cat?”

“I didn’t see anyone or anything down there. It’s like something grabbed me and vanished!”

“The fuck is going on?” Saraf yelled as the bed began to shake beneath their feet, “Your place  _is_  haunted!”

“No, wait,” John replied, “I think it’s just…”

 

Saraf made a running leap for the doorway, screaming in terror as he bolted for the exit in just his trousers, “It touched my foot!  _Something touched my foot!”_

Sherlock shimmied out of the bed, sat on his haunches on the bedroom floor, and licked some disturbed fur on his shoulder back into place.

“I. Will. Kill. You,” John panted, “Just as soon as I figure out how you did that.”

John hopped off the bed and looked beneath the bed. He could see clear to the other side of it… where the cat wasn’t. He walked around to the foot where he’d been digging at the mattress. A hole. A hole that was just large enough for a bone-less cat to slide into the box spring beneath his mattress. John walked around the bed and found two more holes, one beneath the bed and one on the side closest the door.

“Sneaky little shit,” John grumbled, staring at glowing eyes from inside of his box spring, “You just cost me a lay. I was _trying_  to get off with Saraf!”

“Mrow,” Sherlock intoned, sliding out of the bed and curling his tail tickling John’s nose as he brushed past him to rub up on his body.

“Good grief,” John sighed, “I can’t believe I just lost a chance at a piece of ass because my cat decided to play poltergeist. No one is ever going to believe this.”

John reached for his cane to help himself up off of the floor and that’s when it hit him. No cane. No cane and no pain. He’d been running without it since the circus, too hopped up on adrenaline and worry for Sherlock to think about it.

John’s hand reached out and he stroked the cat, giving him a proper pet for the first time in their short relationship, “Did you know, Sherlock? Did you know I needed a push to let that damn cane go?”

John put his back against his dresser and stared at the room around him, fighting down grateful tears as the cat happily pacing in front of him, rubbing his sides, tail, and face all over John while purring like a motor. The creature then hopped up onto his bed with infinite feline grace and John climbed up behind him, pulling him against him so he could continue petting the soft creature while he trembled in relief.

“I hope you’re done digging holes in my bed because after this emotional- and physical- roller coaster I’m well beat.”

Sherlock’s only response was to add a chirp to his purr so John closed his eyes, snuggled close, and fell asleep with his face tucked into a tangled mess of curls. Sherlock’s tail flicked the bed on occasion and his ears moved about curiously, but he was otherwise still throughout the night. John woke to a sour mouth and a warm but vacant bed. He staggered out to find the cat had vanished once again, taking his keys once more. John decided he was due a break and called out of work, pleading illness. He didn’t want to see Saraf and he definitely didn’t want to work when he suddenly found himself full of inspiration.

John logged onto his computer and started typing up a story. He chuckled as he put words into Sherlock’s mouth and soon realized the character he was describing was no cat. He was a man. That was fine. It was only fiction. John continued to describe their daring adventure and was just about done editing the short story when the cat walked into the flat with a satisfied look on his face and a bunch of feathers grasped in his hand as a trophy.

“Welcome home,” John smiled, and then paused, “That’s it! Holmes! Perfect last name!”

“Mrow?” Sherlock asked, cocking his head to one side. He strolled across the sitting room with purpose, still on two legs as he usually was when not running, and paused to stare at John’s laptop. And then smack at the blinking curser a few times. John pulled the computer out of his reach and smiled at him.

“I’m writing a story about you, my feline friend.”

“Meooooooow!” Sherlock whined, looking displeased. He climbed up on the desk and tossed himself across the laptop.

“Hey!” John scowled, dragging him off despite his claws digging into the wood of the desk, “You’ll break it! How am I ever to protect this thing from you?”

John tossed the cat down on ‘his’ chair and checked his machine for damage. Luckily the screen had only been knocked back rather than broken  _off_. He gave Sherlock a surly scowl only to find he’d strolled off to harass the drapes again.

“You’re lucky the landlady didn’t provide any of the furniture. And loves cats. Speaking of, I should probably tell her you’re gay. Shall I call her up, hm?”

John left and returned shortly after, putting on the kettle while waiting for Mrs. Hudson to finish up her washing and join them. She strolled up with a happy smile and sat herself down in Sherlock’s chair. He immediately took offense and came over to her with an angry glare.

“Sorry, he’s stroppy sometimes,” John chuckled when she pretended offense.

“Oh, it’s fine. They all are. Why my Harold was such a sod! Sweet in bed, but  _awful_  everywhere else…”

“Oh wow,” John stammered, “Well, how about we leave that to the imagination, eh? Tea?”

“Oh, yes, thank you!” She chirped happily.

John hurried to pour it only to find Sherlock all but chugging out of the milk carton. He snatched it from him, glanced back to make sure Mrs. Hudson hadn’t seen, and added her usual amount of milk to her cup. He returned to their chairs and poured tea over her milk and into his empty cup as well. They sipped in silence for a bit and then Mrs. Hudson reached for Sherlock to pet him where he lounged on the back of the chair she was sitting in. He growled low but didn’t move behind turning an ear back to inform her visually that he wasn’t enjoying her attention either.

“Stroppy,” John nodded, “And only likes me, apparently. He actually chased off my date last night.”

“Doesn’t like women, eh?” Mrs. Hudson chuckled.

“Or men,” John replied. Mrs. Hudson just would  _not_  believe him when he told her he was gay. Apparently she  _really_ wanted him to marry her niece.

“Oh, is he neutered?” Mrs. Hudson wondered.

Sherlock hissed.

“Maybe we should switch chairs,” John suggested.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s quite sweet,” She replied, trying to pet him again.

An hour later and they left the hospital with a total of twelve stitches. John was convinced he’d have to have Sherlock put down but Mrs. Hudson insisted that it wasn’t on.

“It was my own fault,” She sighed, cradling her bandaged arm, “He  _did_  warn me and I do know how to speak cat.”

“I’m just terribly sorry,” John sighed, “I’m starting to see why they tried to have him snipped. He’s so aggressive!”

“You might want to give it a go if you’re not using him for sex,” Mrs. Hudson stated plainly, “It would calm him down.”

“I’ll… look into it,” John replied with a sigh.

He headed home with a bit of worry in his gut. Sherlock was using tacks to attach his bird feathers to the wall over his sofa.

“Trophies?” John asked.

Sherlock’s ears and whiskers implied an affirmative and John headed over to where he stood on the furniture. John stroked his hand from head to tip of tail and a purr whirred up as if on command. John flopped down on the couch with a sigh.

“What am I going to do with you?” John groaned, “You attacked my  _landlady_. She’ll kick me out for sure!”

Sherlock looked chagrined for a change, his ears flat and his head ducked low as he lay beneath John’s bed and stared at him woefully.

“You’re lucky she’s such a sucker for cats. Come on out of there. I picked up some books on cats and I want to see how they apply to you.”

Sherlock slunk out from under the bed, purring cautiously to get John to forgive him. John walked into the sitting room and Sherlock hesitantly followed him with his tail down.

“I’m worried about how you always have your tail down,” John stated, sitting down in front of his stack of books, “It says here that’s a negative emotion. So we’re going to work on communicating.”

John spread out the pamphlet with the communication guide on it and pulled out some flashcards he’d bought for Sherlock.

“Are you keeping your tail down because you are sad?” John asked, holding up a card showing a frowny face on a person on one side and a ‘sad expression’ for a cat on the other. He faced the cat side to Sherlock.

Sherlock’s ears pivoted back and he looked away disdainfully.

“Nope. Okay. How about… angry?”

Sherlock showed a bit more interest but he was still giving a negative response… John thought. The problem with cat signs is they were often muddled and had many translations. John could be misreading him completely even with the guide.

“How about frustrated?”

Sherlock looked at the card with his ears perked forward and his whiskers moved forward a bit. His tail remained downcast.

“Yes? Okay. We’re getting somewhere now. How about sick?”

Sherlock mimed sneezing and gave a negative response again.

“Yeah, okay. You’d have symptoms. I get that. How about… this seems unlikely… still… insecure?”

Sherlock winced. He actually  _winced_. That wasn’t anywhere on the charts. John blinked in surprise and studied him carefully. He was obviously was trying to force his ears forward in an affirmative response.

“Insecure. Huh. You know you guys used to be  _gods_ , right?”

His expression couldn’t have been more clearly disdainful if he’d stood up and pissed on John to make his point clearer.

“Okay,” John chuckled, “Sorry. Sore spot, eh? Well, let’s talk this through. I remember the shopkeeper telling me you had been to two other homes. I guess that makes for a bit of worry. And he said you were going to be put down- that’s more than concerning. They usually only do that to violent cats, but no one mentioned you being violent and you only went for Mrs. Hudson because she was in your seat and petting you after you told her not to. Declawing is illegal in England, thank goodness. Decapitating the tips of your toes is just sick.”

Sherlock looked agreeable to that statement.

“So I just have to reassure you. How do I do that, then?” John wondered, paging through the books, “Let’s see…  _Insecure cats will hide, steal comforting things_ \- so that’s where my scarf went-  _behave submissively_ \- not really- _and sometimes attack without warning._  Hm. Okay. So we know you’re digging holes in my bed, stealing my stuff, and beating up defenceless old ladies and circus folk. Sounds about right. So, what to do about it?  _Insecure cats need extra one-on-one attention. If there is another cat in the house it is advised to separate them during playtime so the more dominant cat doesn’t see submissive behaviour.”_

John lowered the book to stare at Sherlock. He had climbed up on John’s coffee table and was squatting over it, the look on his face quite severe as he took a crap on the top of the table. John turned to the index.  _Poop, outside of catbox_.

“ _Cats who intentionally go outside of a catbox do so in order to mark their territory, declare themselves the dominant housemember, and attract a mate. Uncovered poop is a sign of dominance, stating that he or she is so strong they do not have to hide their poop from predators. Urinating is done to mark territory or because the cat is not properly trained to use the box. Cats who spray are usually unaltered cats looking for a mate._ Then it goes on to explain how to deal with it. Hmmm. Don’t clean up your leavings?! Really?! Burying or getting rid of your poop for you makes me the submissive cat.”

John stared at the steaming pile of shit on his coffee table for a moment, walked to the kitchen to get a role of paper towels, and promptly cleaned up the feces.

“Guess I’m low man on the totem pole,” John snorted, “I got your message loud and clear, by the way; you may be insecure but you’re  _not_  submissive. No worries. So. Now to deal with the insecurity.”

John read in silence this time, lest he insult his cat further and incur more of his wrath. Once he had a few good ideas he suggested them to the cat, resulting in more annoyed looks.

“No to snuggling. No to baby talk. Yes to playtime. Yes to treats. Yes to lots of attention. Yes to catnip. Also you agree that company should be to a minimum. Okay. I’m off to the store. I’ll be back.”

Sherlock tolerated the scratch behind his ears, pretending not to absolutely  _love_  it. John headed to the store where he found Sherlock staring curiously at the toy section. Of course.

“How did you get here before… no, nevermind. I have a few ideas how,” John scoffed, “You want to pick out your own toys, huh?”

Sherlock’s ears and whiskers pricked forward. He either did want to pick out his toys or he wanted some food. Favour the former. John started pulling toys off the shelf one at a time and offering them to his cat who dismissed them repeatedly. They ended up in the dog toy area where he chose a stuffed hedgehog toy with a squeaker inside and a hard chew toy shaped like a pipe. John thought they were hilarious choices and added them to his basket. Then the odd critter picked out a deerstalker from the clearance items for Halloween, John laughed as his little ears popped through each hole. The cat purred happily, tail swishing from side to side as he stalked off to snatch up three pots of catnip, adding them all to John’s basket without a by-your-leave. John put two of them back. Finally they added in a dangly toy for John to interact with him, paid, and headed home.

Sherlock spent the entire walk home holding the hedgehog to his face and purring contentedly as he nuzzled the furry toy. John got him home and pulled out the rest of what they’d bought. Sherlock went straight for the catnip and John watched him pluck a few leaves, scatter them on the floor, and rub his body all over them. John laughed at him as he got high off the fragrant leaves, moaning and starting to… touch himself?

John’s mouth dropped as the cat’s little pink prick made an appearance, and stared at him as he reached down to stroke it to life. The tiny bud swelled to a full six inch cock, surprisingly large for his height but then they were often bred that way. Sherlock was panting now as he writhed on the floor, finally curling up a bit to lap at his cock with his tongue. John’s mouth dried up as he sat on the couch, stupid string toy in hand, and watched the cat fellate himself. He came with a soft mewing sound, lapped up his leavings, and sagged onto the floor in a boneless heap.

“Well that was… inspiring,” John stated, clearing his throat, “Pity you don’t like ‘companionship’.”

Sherlock didn’t respond. He was passed out and even his ears and tail were limp with satisfaction. John chuckled and decided now was the perfect time to work on his ‘book’. He went back to the first bit and added Sherlock’s hat into the story, chuckling quietly over his character. When he’d finished he wondered what to do with his story. It wasn’t long enough to publish as a full book, but perhaps as a short story? Didn’t magazines publish things like that? John searched the internet until he found one that accepted amateur works, did a final proofread, and sent it in with an amused smile. He was sure they’d just toss it aside- who would read stories about a stroppy detective from the 21st century and his blogger?- but it didn’t hurt to have a bit of fun and fantasize about becoming a famous author.

John spent the next week taking time each night to play with his temperamental cat. After a few days he saw a change in the feline, who was starting to greet him with a upraised tail and a cheerful chirp each time he returned from the clinic. He still slept inside of John’s box spring, but he didn’t hide as much and was on his best behaviour around Mrs. Hudson.

Then John heard back from the magazine. They were going to publish his story on next weeks amateur author’s section! John was cheerful about the prospect even if he’d not see a red cent from it. He got started on writing another story while Sherlock was out hunting for his supper. The neighbors had cheerfully informed John that Sherlock’s hunting was saving their gardens from the hyper squirrels and hungry rabbits. They’d dubbed him the local hero, much to John’s amusement. He rewarded Sherlock with some more catnip that night and he spent the time panting on the floor in bliss while John petted him and tried not to be too obvious about how turned on he was. After the cat had fainted on the floor John bolted for his bedroom, took down his trousers and pants, and tossed off quickly to the image of the creature wriggling in pleasure on the floor. In his mind it was his mouth bringing the flexible feline off. 


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N I just realized I never explained how Sherlock does the four-legged thing. Sherlock’s hips and back legs are incredibly flexible as well as a bit shorter than a human’s would be. When he stands upright he is on his toes, but when he drops to all fours he flattens his feet and shifts his joints around so his hips raise up. His bum is a bit higher than his shoulders, but otherwise he’s good to go. He is also capable of kneeling._

John sighed in relief, washed up for the night, and collapsed into bed with a comfortable wriggle into his soft sheets. A few minutes later he felt a weight shift on the bed. John looked up in surprise to find a dark form heading for him on all fours.

“Mrow?” Sherlock asked.

“Of course you can sleep here,” John replied, scratching at the bedding beside him to draw the creature closer, “Come here, boy.”

Sherlock came forward with an eager purr and John stroked his satiny fur and scratched amongst his curls to sooth those hard-to-reach itches. Then he reached out and found something decidedly _not_ a head. Sherlock had turned his bottom to him! John recognized this from the books. Sherlock was offering his most intimate area to be sniffed, allowing John to get to know him better. This was his chance to initiate more intimate contact! The book had assured John that he was likely to clean himself thoroughly, but that sniffing first was still polite. He gave his plush arsecrack a sniff and found it smelled only of Sherlock’s usual feline fur with a slight perfume from the litter he utilized. John scratched above his tail, giving his little rump a good scratch until he heard the purr increase. He leaned forward again and pulled his cheek apart with one thumb and gave him another sniff.

John decided that this was acceptable enough and leaned back to relax, his mind turning over whether or not this was an offer to do something _more_. For female cats it sometimes was an offer for sex, but Sherlock had turned down his previous owners on that regard and John wasn’t willing to risk their budding relationship.

Sherlock turned around and rubbed his face over John’s, purring wildly as he slid his chin over his forehead. John chuckled and gave him another scratch while he did a happy-feet dance on his chest. John had to push him off when the need to breathe overwhelmed his yearning to invite the little shit into his bed. Sherlock flopped happily onto his side, sighing happily and snuggling up to John with his back pressed against the doctor’s arm. John rolled over and wrapped an arm around him, excited that they seemed to be bonding finally, only to have Sherlock stop purring instantly and bolt. John struggled upright and searched the flat, but Sherlock was gone.

XXX

Sherlock showed up in time for John’s therapy appointment the next day with a bundle of feathers in his hands. He held them up to John in offering, and he accepted the blood-tipped feathers with a smile and a pat on the head.

“Good hunting, eh?”

Sherlock’s reply was to lick his chops in obvious satisfaction.

“You’re in time for my therapy session. Want to come along? My shrink is the reason I went looking for a pet, you know.”

Sherlock’s head cocked to the side in obvious interest, his pupils dilating as he focused on John as if he were a quick-moving mouse.

“I’ll take that as interest. You have to wear the leash but I promise not to tug on it. Just don’t take off on me. You’re lucky you haven’t been caught, you know. There are laws about you lot wandering around alone.”

Sherlock gave him a look of obvious disdain, lifted his tail, and farted in John’s direction with a soft puff of foul air. John snorted, waiving a hand in the air to dismiss the odour and shook his head in amusement. He clipped the leash onto his collar and then hesitated in surprise. The tag he had on the collar was still from his previous owner. It was only for show, of course. John had updated the sub dermal implant with his information so Sherlock would be returned to _him_ if found lost somewhere, but that was beside the point. John hadn’t collared him. His own pet wore someone _else’s_ marking. Someone who had tried to do who knows what to Sherlock, found him unwilling, and then _abandoned_ him to a shelter for unwanted pets!

John grabbed the collar and wrestled it off of Sherlock in a sudden fit of anger. Sherlock’s ears flew back, plastered to his head in obvious fear, but he stood completely still while John scrabbled with the rusted buckle. This collar had clearly belonged to more than one owner besides John. It may have been his very first collar, and quite likely donned a previous pet as well. It was old and quite abused, yet Sherlock hadn’t removed it despite the fact he was clearly intelligent enough to do so.

“I’ll get you a new one,” John promised, “You can keep this if you like, but I don’t want you wearing it. I’ll get you one from _me_ ; _my_ collar to wear. Understand?”

Sherlock did one of those fluid hops that defied gravity and nearly bloodied John’s lip bumping his head into him. That was a sign of affection so John ignored the taste of copper in his mouth and scratched his ears lovingly. He looped the leash around Sherlock’s neck and clipped it to itself, vowing to be careful with it out loud. They left together with Sherlock’s feet moving so fast on the stairs that John had to hurry to keep up. Mrs. Hudson called a farewell and John echoed it. To his surprise Sherlock let out a loud chirp of feline greeting and opened the door with his hands despite the pads not meant to grip such slick surfaces. John wanted to check the knob for scratches but Sherlock was in a hurry so he rushed after him, pulling the door shut by the knocker.

Sherlock led him down two streets with John grinning wildly at the feline’s flicking tail. He had forgotten all about his appointment by the time Sherlock stopped at a pet store and let out a plaintive sound at the door. John opened it and they hurried inside and straight to the collar section. Sherlock didn’t even hesitate. He picked up a simple black collar with a pewter tag and held it up to John. John smiled at it. Weather protected faux leather of the finest quality, so fine that only the tag let him know it wasn’t made from a living creature. It was probably viciously expensive but John couldn’t ignore those quivering ears. He gave Sherlock a loving pet and headed for the counter. Once he’d handed over more money than he wanted to think about he looped it around Sherlock’s neck, his chin lifted high as a purr rose up in him. John could feel his throat rumbling as he buckled the collar around his neck. The tag he handed over to the clerk who put it into a machine and had his name engraved on it in the signature style John chose. It was as elegant as the cat himself when John clipped it back on and he couldn’t help but to smile proudly at his pet.

“Very handsome,” The clerk intoned, smiling warmly, “He clearly adores you.”

The man gave him a saucy wink and John blushed up to his ears, “We’re not like that. He’s just a friend.”

Sherlock’s ears flickered through several positions and John vaguely recognized the motion as that of surprise but didn’t dwell on it. He hurried out the door with Sherlock in tow, his ears more relaxed as he dropped into contemplative thought. John hailed a taxi and was surprised one stopped seeing as how he had a cat in tow, but he didn’t question it. He’d not make his appointment on time if he took the tube.

John hurried into the office, frowning as he noted that he was six minutes late, and straight into her open door to drop into a chair with a huff.

“Sorry I’m late,” John stated, “I was…”

“Your limp is gone,” Dr. Thompson stated.

“Sorry?” John asked, then recalled, “Oh! Yes. That was Sherlock’s doing. He…”

John glanced down at the leash in his hand. It was attached to nothing. His cat was gone.

“Sherlock?” Dr. Thompson asked.

“My cat,” John frowned, “He was just here. He must have slipped his leash again.”

“Oh dear,” Dr. Thompson worried, “Should we go look for him?”

“No,” John grinned, “He’ll show up when he wants to. He’s always going off. Nice, actually. I never have to pay for food for him. He hunts all his own. Brought me some feathers this afternoon.”

“John,” Dr. Thompson worried, “You know that’s against the law. He can’t be running about. He’ll be caught and taken for you.”

“I’d like to see them try to catch him,” John snorted, “Look what I’ve done!”

John pulled out the magazine that had published his story he’d written and handed it to her.

“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?” Dr. Thompson asked.

“Yeah,” John chuckled, “My penname. Bit showy but I think it’s fun. I based the story on my crazy cat. I made him human, obviously, but it works out well.”

“He’s a detective.”

“He’s frightfully clever,” John nodded, “I put the story in the early 2000’s. I had to do a lot of research, did you know people still had to carry their phones back then? They called them mobiles.”

“I read that somewhere,” Dr. Thompson replied with a nod, “People were afraid of the government monitoring them. It wasn’t as benign as ours is now.”

“Yeah, I played into that. I invented a brother for him who is _in_ the government. I’m going to bring him into play in the next story. I based him on a fat ginger cat I saw in the store. I’m tempted to go back and get him.”

Dr. Thompson hesitated a moment and then handed the magazine back to John with a worried look on her face.

“I rather thought you’d get a dog,” She replied.

“I’m not a dog person,” John shrugged, “My mum had one and getting one just feels… Freudian.”

“John, I don’t think I have to tell you that cats are antisocial creatures who are generally only purchased by the lonely and desperate. I’m concerned that having a cat- and especially having _several_ cats- is just going to lead to you becoming more reclusive and compounding your PTSD. I’d hate to see you become a shut-in.”

John’s jaw dropped. When he got it together again he angrily glared at her, “Of all the closed minded load of hogwash…! I’m feeling better! I’m not limping anymore! I’m participating in the community! I went on a _date!_ Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes, but…”

“Then why does it matter _which_ kind of pet led to that? I’m not going to become some crazy cat person just because I’ve got a cat and am considering a second!”

“Was your date successful?”

“No, Sherlock chased him off but…”

“Exactly,” She nodded, “Cats are territorial and possessive of their humans. They often refuse to allow partnerships to form after being adopted. If you were already with someone that would be different, but to add someone now would be difficult.”

“That’s my problem, not yours.”

“I’m your therapist, John. Your problems _are_ my problems.”

“Then you’ll be glad to know you’re fired,” John snapped, standing and hurrying out the door.

He refused to let himself limp despite the sudden flair of pain up his leg.

XXX

John was limping horribly by the time he got to his flat, wishing he hadn’t left his cane in that warehouse. He walked into his flat to find Sherlock stretched out on the floor absorbing the receding sunlight from the windows. His black and white chest and belly was on full display and the sight of it gave John an instant surge of relief. He smiled fondly and toed off his shoes to walk across the carpet and give Sherlock’s belly a rub with his sock covered foot. Sherlock apparently didn’t like that because he curled up like a woodlouse and dug both claws and teeth into John’s foot. John yelped and hopped away, frowning at him but not bothering to scold him. The cat gave him a disgusted look where he lay on the floor flicking his tail at John in obvious disappointment over his actions with his foot.

That was when John noticed it. Sherlock had been at his digging again, except he’d taken out his wrath on the wall above the couch! He’d somehow managed to gouge out a hole about the size of his torso all the way down to the brick firewall! What was most shocking was that the height of the hole was above Sherlock’s height. He’d had to stand on the back of the couch and go at it for ages.

John groaned miserably, and then looked a bit closer as he thought he saw something odd about it. John snorted. A face. Sherlock had carved a _face_ into the wall! If he pressed his own face against it his nose would touch the brick, the rest of his face conforming to the shape of the ‘plaster mask’ that was the gigantic dent in his wall.

“I’m going to have to pay for that, you know,” John scolded the cat.

Sherlock hissed at him.

“Don’t you sass me,” John snapped, “I’ve had about enough of your antics! I don’t get sleep, you destroy my home…”

John stopped as Sherlock’s ears dropped sideways on his skull. That position was a warning one; it meant he was extremely scared and angry. Yet the rest of his body only displayed signs of disdain.

“Oh hell, Sherlock. I’m not going to get rid of you. I _swear_ I won’t. I’m just… you can’t keep trashing my flat and keeping me up all night. Or chasing off my dates. Unless you want to be a substitute for them.”

Sherlock’s ears flicked back to calm but he still glared at John a bit. The human decided that was as good as their discussion was going to get and headed to the toilet. When he re-emerged Sherlock was at the wall again scrabbling more into it. John headed over while shouting and then froze. Sherlock had completed his ‘sculture’ by adding a sort of pony tail to it. And it was familiar. It took John a moment to place _where_ he’d seen that before and then it clicked.

The federation had a space exploration division that included pets intelligent enough to qualify as sentient. They were pair-bonded with humans to form a division that could survive with minimal contact on stations deep in outer space. This was their symbol; human face with an animal’s tail curving beneath it, representing the cats and monkeys that made up most of their regimen.

John was at his consol in a moment, hands trembling with excitement rather than trauma so much that he opted to use the voice command instead of his usual awkward typing.

“Search: Federation Animatrix Division.”

A few thousand hits came up.

“Search: Application with previous command.”

A few hundred, but the top result was the one John blinked towards to select his option.

“Well,” John breathed, “I’ll be damned. They need doctors for a mission leaving in… three months.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Re-enlisting was a difficult process. He had to show up and convince their psychiatrist that he was cured of his psychosomatic issues. His past enlistment actually helped, as they were eager to get under way despite the fact one of their doctors had passed away in an accident and put them behind schedule. John was already trained in two fields and that was a huge asset.

Sherlock, however, was _not_ trained and they had to test him first to see if he was intelligent enough to pass as sentient despite the fact that most of his species was not. John wasn’t allowed to help so he sat behind a one-way pain of glass and watched as Sherlock sat in front of a consol in the floor and responded to the screen. At first it looked as if he were just chasing lights and shapes, but as John watched his responses started to make sense. Before he knew it he had solved several simple puzzles. Then Sherlock was presented with several helpful activities. Since the world they went on wouldn’t necessarily be overly developed technology-wise he would need to display an interest in helping his Master with basic tasks.

First Sherlock had to demonstrate that he knew how to use his opposable thumbs despite most technology not being sensitive to the touch of pad-footed creatures. Sherlock was given tools that would work with his digits and encouraged to do simple tasks like use a screwdriver and hammer. He did so with a bored look and then started taking apart the test console while the discussed his results. John had to stop him and got bitten for his troubles.

Next Sherlock was to help John with things his ‘Master’ might require while injured on a station. John was told to lie on the floor in a simulated shuttle craft and direct Sherlock to get help for him. The ‘help’ was a call button with an icon on it showing a person speaking, just like all shuttles had to help those unfamiliar with vessels use them. All Sherlock had to do was trigger the mechanism and meow loudly as if in distress. Anyone who heard it would get a translation on their end via the federations interspecies transmitters. John lay on the floor of the simulated shuttle and shouted at Sherlock to get him help. Sherlock sat on the floor beside him and cleaned his genitals. John got angry and flicked a bit of fake blood at him. The instructors scolded John and Sherlock angrily licked the blood off while staring death threats at John. Then John realized what was wrong. He picked up a nearby tool and cracked himself over the skull with it. Before the instructors could panic and end the simulation Sherlock bolted for the button, triggered it, and screamed bloody murder into it. The simulation ended and a doctor came in with an irate look on his face.

“Of all the idiotic things to do!” McCoy snapped.

“It worked, didn’t it? He knew I was faking. He’s too smart for his own good,” John glared at his feline while the cat anxiously rubbed up on the doctor.

“And yours, apparently,” The man snapped, “You’re concussed. Did you have to be so damn dramatic?”

“He wouldn’t have responded to anything else,” John replied with a shrug, “I guess we failed?”

“Not my call,” The doctor replied, “They’ll probably make you talk to a counsellor to make sure you’re not into harming yourself.”

“Trust me,” John groused, “I’d rather he’d just done what he was supposed to the first time around.”

Once they’d ran a few nodes over his lump the swelling went down and the instructors surprised John by sending him straight to the next test rather than dismissing him or bringing in the shrink. They were now placed in a simulated crash. Sherlock was to remain calm for as long as possible despite noises, flashes, and a great deal of smoke. John was to help him stay calm and out of the way while the ‘pilot’ handled the crash. John expected Sherlock to see through this simulation the way he had the others, but this time it must have been too real for him. The second the ship went to orange alert Sherlock’s fur stuck up, his ears went flat, and his eyes went wide as flying saucers. John started talking to him gently and petting him, but when the ship went to red alert Sherlock panicked and started bolting around. He knocked into controls, crewmen, and literally climbed the walls while John rushed around- also getting in the way- trying to stop him from freaking out. Finally he caught the feline by the scruff of his neck and the creature went limp. His eyes remained wide and his breathing hysterical but his hands merely plucked at John’s uniform now. The simulation went on for another ten minutes with John muttering rather unflattering comforting words beneath his breath. Things like ‘calm down you little shit’ and ‘I swear if you bite me again the blinking lights will be the last of your worries’. Finally the simulation ended and John was sick on himself. Sherlock gave him a look of complete revulsion and removed himself to the far side of the holosuite while someone came in to give him a fresh uniform and check him over again.

“Have we hit the record low yet?” John groused.

“Nah,” McCoy chuckled, “I think that was reserved for this one sorry recruit who pissed himself mid-simulation and then kicked his dog.”

“Bastard,” John frowned, “I might not be sweet as a little old lady to him but I’d never hurt him.”

“One more test. Can you hang in?”

“Of course I can,” John replied, squaring his shoulders, “This is more awkward than awful. I _have_ been through basic before, you know.”

“Right,” McCoy replied, clapping him on the shoulder, “Luck to you.”

“Ta very much,” John nodded, and waited for the next simulation to start up.

It was a standard issue soldiers quarters. John glanced around himself. They’d received no instructions so he started looking for them, tapping the consol and seeing that they were listed as three days on mission on an asteroid mine. It was apparently his day off.

“I guess they want to see us act natural,” John told Sherlock, whose ears quirked a bit, “Oh, you want to play? After all we’ve done today? Well… frankly I’m beat and if they’re telling me it’s my day off I want to sleep, but…”

Sherlock bolted for a nearby cubby hole and came out with a stick that had a string attached. John grinned.

“A worthy compromise. I sit and you play. I knew there was a reason we tolerated each other,” John sat down on a rather comfortable chair and Sherlock bolted around at his ankles while he whipped the toy back and forth.

Sherlock was just getting to the point where he wouldn’t let John have the toy back again when something suddenly changed. He gave John a confused, frightened look and staggered to one side.

“Sherlock?” John asked.

Sherlock looked at him with only one eye dilated and a disoriented look to his face. His ears were all over the place as he frantically tried to communicate _something_. John was down on his knees on the floor instantly, checking his pulse and feeling along his belly for any sign of convulsing muscles. They were twitching violently.

“Computer, end simulation! I need a medic!”

“This simulation can only be ended by the instructor,” The computer’s impassive voice informed him.

“Instructor, end the simulation! Something’s wrong with Sherlock!”

No response.

“Instructor, please respond!” John snapped, tapping his comm and listening to the repeated beeps that meant he wasn’t getting through, “Computer shipwide communications: Medical emergency in the holodeck. Repeat. Medical emergency in the holodeck. Male feline in severe distress, appears to be drugged.”

“This is medical, I’ve been alerted of your situation. Please remain calm and assist your pet however possible. We’ll get to you soon.”

John laid Sherlock on his side and petted his silky fur. His breathing had gone ragged now and he was foaming at the mouth, his inner eyelids partway pulled over his eyes. He let out plaintive cries every once in a while until John laid down behind him and held him gently in his arms.

“It’s okay, Sherlock. It’s going to be okay. Shhh, my poor little one. I’ve got you.”

The simulation shut off and John hurriedly stood up, lifting Sherlock in his arms as he headed for the doorway and kicked the pad to open the doors. They swished open and John stepped out into the hallway to a volleying round of applause. John opened his mouth to shout at them, but Sherlock suddenly kicked out, twisted on his way to the ground, and landed on all fours with a soft plop. John stared at him as he stood up and licked at his shoulder as he obviously preened.

“The fuck is going on?!” John ranted.

“Doctor Watson,” An instructor asked as she stepped forward, “Why did you not utilize the emergency kit in the room?”

“Because it was holographic,” John snapped, “It all was.”

“You kept that in mind despite your worry about your pet?”

“Of course I did! Now what the _hell_ is going on?!”

“It was Sherlock’s turn to play sick,” A second instructor- this one intersex- intoned with a smile, “We’ve never seen such brilliant acting from a pet. Most owners see them ‘playing dead’ and just go through the motions of calling in an emergency while trying not to smile, but you two…! If we weren’t monitoring his vitals we’d have thought he really _was_ ill!”

John clenched his jaw for a moment and counted backwards from ten while taking deep breaths. The group around him stilled, recognizing his flushed face and twitching hand as a serious problem; when he calmed enough John tapped Sherlock on the nose to get his attention.

“Sherlock, I was a soldier. I lost people. Don’t ever do that again. I don’t care what kind of plan you have to get us into space and re-start my life. You don’t do that to me. Understand?”

Sherlock’s ears and whiskers drooped pathetically and his eyes went wide to beg for forgiveness. At least John had gotten through to him this time.

“Yeah, I forgive you. Just don’t do that again.”

Sherlock purred loudly and rubbed himself across John’s hip and thigh, circling around him to purr loudly he butted up under John’s hand. John stroked his fur and let his pounding heart calm down.

“I suppose I deserved that after the wrench thing, huh?” John asked with a chuckle.

Sherlock gave him a narrow glare and nipped his hand, but not hard enough to break the skin.

“Okay, I’m sorry too,” John sighed, “Forgiven?”

Sherlock purred and promptly flopped on the ground to display his belly for petting. John had forgotten where he was at this point and simply knelt down to pet that fluffy tum until someone cleared his or her throat.

“Dr. Watson we’ll have your results to you in an hour. You can go to Ten-Forward to relax for a bit.”

John blushed as he glanced up at the instructors and then hurried away with his cat happily trotting after him.

XXX

Ten-Forward was apparently the lounge on the ship, a bar/restaurant/café where John found a corner dedicated to the shipbound pets. Sherlock strode into the padded area with a purposeful air and immediately started mock-fighting with a dog there. John sat down at the nearby table- it was a bench ordeal that surrounded the recessed pet area- beside the owner of that particular pooch.

“Nice looking dog,” John nodded, “Boxer?”

“Yep. Pure bred,” She bragged, tucking a pale blonde curl behind her head, “He has two champions in her lineage.”

“Impressive.”

“Yours?”

“Um… just a tomcat. He’s impressive in his own way though. We’re trying to get into the Animatrix division, but I think we just flopped our test.”

“Pity,” She replied with a frown, “We’ve not got any cats on board and I’ve always loved them. Bowser here doesn’t like them much, though.”

Bowser was currently fleeing Sherlock’s glare with his stub of a tail trying to press down as low as possible.

“I can tell,” John chuckled, and they traded names. Mary turned out to be headed out on a mission in about six months. She and Bowser were still in training.

“So you’re really trying to go out without full training?” Mary asked in surprise when John told her which mission he was aiming for.

“I’ve been in service before and Sherlock’s the most clever creature I’ve ever met,” John shrugged.

“Yeah, but you just said you bollocked the test so…” She raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock gave her a disgusted look and headed over to break them up. John watched in amusement as he walked beneath the table and climbed up in between them. Sherlock planted his back feet on her thigh and his back on John and pushed, effectively sliding her away from him while she gaped at his sass.

“Yeah,” John chuckled, “He was just as snarky about the simulations, which is why I think we fobbed it. He’s too smart for his own good.”

“Dr. John Watson to holodeck four,” His comm beeped.

“On my way,” John replied, “Well, I probably won’t see you around. Sorry Sherlock made Bowser piss on the floor.”

Mary’s head swivelled in surprise and she stared at where Bowser sat miserably in a puddle of his own fluids. John smoothed down his grin and left without making her feel worse than she already did. John hurried back to the holodeck where the instructors were all waiting for him.

“Doctor, your Captain status is being returned to active,” Dr. McCoy stated with a grin.

“I’m in?” John asked in shock.

“-And your feline will be starting at Entry One, which is Ensign level for pets. We’re sure he’ll work up to an equal standing with you fairly quickly. Congratulations and you’ll receive your orders for some rush training in the morning.”

“But… but…” John stammered, “We were awful. A laughing stock. Ow!” John announced as Sherlock dug all five claws into his thigh from where he crouched on the floor at his feet, “We didn’t even _manage_ the panic simulations. _Ow!_ ”

“You managed them just fine,” McCoy replied, “There’s no right and wrong way to handle them, just so long as one of you keep your head and help the other do so.”

McCoy handed him a pad full of information that John accepted with numb fingers. Sherlock purred at his side, rubbing his face against John’s thigh lovingly. John absently petted his ears as they headed for the shuttle that would return them to the surface until his orders came through.


	5. Chapter 5

“How much do you know about pair-bonding?” Dr. Janine asked him calmly, her soothing Irish accent washing over him.

“Not much,” John shrugged, “I hear it’s like a marriage.”

“In a way,” She nodded, “Pair-bonding involves opening a psychic link between two individuals who have an existing connection. It has failed to be successful in human/human pairings due to the level of intellect and human need for privacy; generally the result was… violent.”

“Oh,” John frowned, “I guess I can see how that would happen. If my girlfriends knew how many times I’ve told them they didn’t look fat when they did…”

“Exactly,” Janine smiled ruefully, “However, with animal/human pairings we have an intense degree of success. The animals don’t hold grudges or lie the way humans do. Rather than creating angst it creates an intense emotional bond that supplements the previously existing one.”

John shifted. He hadn’t told them that Sherlock was reticent to so much as cuddle with him and they had _never_ been physically intimate. They didn’t have a very strong emotional bond as far as he was aware. Sherlock was currently hiding beneath the chair beside him, tail lashing as he stared at her bird with hungry eyes. John was more than a bit worried about them as the bird fluffed her feathers and preened herself on a special bird-perch.

“So how do we go about it?” John asked, casually reaching down to hook a few fingers in Sherlock’s collar. He rolled over grabbed John’s arm with his front paws, bit into his hand, and scratched at his upper arm with his back feet, “Fucking hell! You little shit!”

Sherlock bolted and John stared at his bloodied arm. Sherlock was now glaring at him from behind a basket of toys. Janine looked alarmed so John gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“He does that sometimes. You were saying?”

“Well… we would place each of you in a machine together that simulates the conditions in the womb that cause psychic abilities to develop. After a few hours you would develop the sort of link that twins have, a basic ability to sense each other and your feelings. After a few more hours you would be capable of speaking through a telepathic link. A few hours after that and some people are able to sense those around them as well, but we don’t suggest that as it can be traumatic for those without Betazoid descent.”

“Right. So is this all in one sitting?”

“Yes. You have a button available to you. Either can hit it when they feel they’ve got all they can handle.”

“Okay. When do we start? OW!”

Sherlock had chosen that moment to leap out of nowhere at the bird and John had tossed himself in front of him, resulting in claws being dug into both his shoulders and each hip. He gripped his unruly cat by the scruff of his neck and wrestled him to the ground, sitting on him when he continued to mindlessly attempt to get to the bird. Janine opened her window and shooed the feathered menace out. Sherlock started to sulk so John got up and checked himself over to see how severe his injuries were.

“You’re going to need to clean up first,” Janine replied.

John sat on the toilet in the bathroom dabbing his arms with rubbing alcohol covered cotton balls and glaring daggers at his cat as he carefully groomed his fur.

“I can’t believe we’ve not been kicked out with the way you’re behaving,” John grumbled.

Sherlock’s ear twitched.

“I know, but this _was_ your idea. I’d think you’d be concerned.”

Sherlock gave him a withering glare.

“Well _I_ think you’re being abysmal. And they’ve been far more understanding than the folks _I_ served under previously. It’s making me suspicious, you know.”

Sherlock stood up and strolled over to him on all fours to rub his side against John’s back and purr soothingly. John couldn’t help but smile, capping the alcohol to turn to his pet and stroke his beautiful fur.

“I’m going to be in your head soon,” John grinned, “That’s kind of exciting. I already read you well as it is, I think.”

Sherlock’s increased purr seemed to be an agreement so John leaned down and nuzzled his silken ears. Sherlock bucked up and pressed closer to him so John tugged him against him and they ended up in a warm embrace with Sherlock rubbing his face over John’s. John laughed a bit and scratched at Sherlock’s favourite parts while enjoying the warmth of a body close to his. Sherlock nuzzled and rubbed and purred so much that John had trouble pulling away to go back to Janine. Sherlock decided he didn’t want to walk that distance so John ended up hauling the sleepy, purring feline over his shoulder and carrying him out. Sherlock was perfectly content to wrap his legs around John’s waist, cling to his jumper with his front claws, and purr into his ear.

“Well, you two seem to have made up,” Janine chuckled, “Sometimes they just need a bit of release, don’t they?”

“Um… yeah,” John blushed, realizing she thought they’d had sex while in the bathroom.

“Let’s get started. I hope you went to the bathroom as well?”

“Yeah,” John muttered, “Just let me check him? Hey, Sherlock? You need to use the box?”

Sherlock remained limp and unresponsive.

“That’s a no, then,” John chuckled, “Shall we?”

They were led to a machine that was shaped like a large egg with padding on the inside. John awkwardly climbed inside with three stones of cat draped over his body. Once inside they closed up the pod and John sighed as he settled in for a long wait. He located the red button for ceasing the experiment and settled down opposite it.

“So,” John grinned after a while, “Feel anything yet?”

Sherlock was sound asleep, limp as a noodle and content to remain so for the foreseeable future so John settled in to stroke his fur and try his hardest to stay awake. It was well over an hour of yawning and getting more and more bored when John felt something niggling at the back of his head. Confused, he reached back and scratched at his head uncomfortably. Nothing seemed to be there but the itch persisted. John scratched again. Then again.

“ _Watson,”_ A voice came over the comm, _“You’re showing spikes in psychic activity. How are you doing?”_

“I think I’ve got fleas,” John replied irritably.

“ _Some describe the transition as a persistent itch on their head,_ ” Janine informed him, _“Try not to scratch too much. We’ve had people come out of there bloody.”_

“Now you tell me,” John grumbled, touching the back of his head anxiously. He hadn’t drawn blood but it was driving him nuts, “I’m starting to get why people hit that button before finishing up the procedure. Am I far enough along to qualify?”

“ _You are, but Sherlock hasn’t started yet. It takes a bit for less developed brains to start up. Can you cope?”_

“I’ll manage,” John sighed, “He’s still asleep, will that hurt anything?”

_“Actually it will speed things up.”_

John sighed and stroked Sherlock rather than scratch at his scalp. He was so miserable he’d stiffened up, pushing his feet against the cushioning. Sherlock took that moment to wake up with a huge yawn and John groaned in frustration. Now he’d take _longer_ to get started! Sherlock blinked at him sleepily and then nuzzled his face affectionately.

“Can I borrow your claws?” John asked him.

_“Something wrong, Watson?”_

“No!” John sighed, “Talking to Sherlock.”

“ _How’s he doing?”_

“He’s bored. That usually means I’m going to get clawed.”

Janine chuckled, “ _Let’s see if we can break him of that once he can communicate with you more fully.”_

“I won’t hold my breath,” John chuckled, then realized he was scratching at his head again and pulled his hand away, “The itching does _stop_ , right?”

“ _Yes, once you’re out it stops._ ”

Sherlock shifted suddenly and let out an anxious mew.

“You okay, boy?” John asked, stroking his pretty curls, “You feeling something?”

Sherlock shifted in his lap, wrapping his arms around John’s neck and pushing up on his thighs with his feet so he could sniff at John’s curls. He reached around behind his head and scratched at his scalp with his claws. John sighed in relief and let his head fall forward as Sherlock raked his fingers through his hair gently enough to avoid damage while being firm enough to sate the infernal itch. Sherlock continued it for a moment and John relaxed finally.

“How is he?” John asked, “He seems unbothered.”

“ _He’s showing psychic activity now as well, but it’s not overly advanced. Another hour should do it._ ”

John sighed and tried to relax, eventually drifting off to sleep. When he woke up it was to feel an odd sense of panic that was strangely detached from his own mind. John rubbed his eyes and shifted, looking around their enclosure to find Sherlock puffed up and rubbing at his head anxiously against the side of the wall.

“How about now?” John asked, “Can we stop? He’s upset.”

 _“If you want,”_ Janine supplied, _“Frankly this is taking far longer than usual with less results. If you can last a bit longer go ahead.”_

John studied Sherlock’s reaction, noticing his anxiety and the odd little mewing sounds he was making. He reached for the button but Sherlock blocked him despite the fact his eyes were watering from his distress.

“That’s enough,” John scolded, “We got what we need to qualify, there’s no need to push it.”

Sherlock swiped at his hand and hissed when John tried for the button again. This time John wasn’t taking no for an answer. Sherlock was trembling and he could _feel_ his fear and anxiety. It was especially disconcerting because he had no idea how to comfort him.

“How do I communicate with him? He doesn’t want me to turn it off, but he’s clearly distressed.”

_“It’s his call too. If he’s blocking you he may be prepared to work through the discomfort as you did.”_

“I don’t _want_ him to work through the discomfort,” John muttered, trying for the button again and getting clawed for his trouble, “Asshat, I’m trying to protect you!”

“Raow!” Sherlock replied, and then followed it up with an insisting hiss.

“Yes, I _know_ but your eyes are watering and I can feel your pain.”

Sherlock’s glare said more than the low growl he let out. Then he snatched at John’s hand- catching it despite his quick self-preserving attempt at withdrawing it- but instead of clawing him again he pulled his hand down to rub his belly.

“Okay. Comforting you. I can do that,” John nodded, “Good compromise.”

John rubbed his belly and Sherlock arched his agile back so he could rest the back of his head against the curved pod while avoiding the button. John stroked his fur down, but when he continued to make soft sounds of pain he rubbed in both directions in an attempt to distract him. Sherlock’s tail thrashed and he let out a tortured sound.

“Okay, that’s it. Push it or I will. They can stitch me up when we’re out of here.”

Sherlock’s hand grasped his wrist again and pushed to… below his belly. _Far_ below his belly. John’s hand grazed his furred bollocks and he froze in surprise but Sherlock panting in pain reminded him that there was a reason he was suddenly fondling furry teabags. John began to rub them gently and Sherlock relaxed a fraction.

“Okay, if this is what you need…”

Sherlock mewed again and John felt something a bit wet touch his palm. He glanced down and wasn’t surprised to see Sherlock’s pink prick sliding free of his shaft. It was long and slender and had only a small ridge. It was more pointed than John’s was and the slickness didn’t vanish as he stroked it to full hardness.

 _“Watson, Sherlock is spiking. I’m seeing his levels catching up rapidly._ _How’s he doing._ ”

“Er… better. A bit. We’re working through it together.”

_“That’s good. The more you can reach out and touch his mind the better.”_

John suppressed a snigger, “What if I get to the hearing things stage before he’s ready?”

“ _We’ll pull you out before then. We’re monitoring you closely.”_

Sherlock’s breath had turned deeper and small grunts were interspersed as John tossed the gorgeous creature off. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut and his legs trembled a bit. Before this procedure John wouldn’t have been able to tell if his response was due to pain or pleasure, but now he could sense Sherlock’s response was due to discomfort rather than outright pain. He was feeling that same tingling sensation John had, but his was _inside_ his skull rather than outside. It was driving him insane. John’s hand was a distraction from that madness. Sherlock approached climax at a rapid pace, panting in relief as small spurts of come landed warmly on John’s torso and dripped down his hand.

Sherlock sagged back and triggered the button. A deep beeping sound set off and the pod split in half. John groaned in humiliation. There was _no_ way to get rid of the stains on his torso before the technicians and doctors saw them. However, Sherlock seemed unphased and simply placed both hands on John’s knees to lean forward and lap off the evidence of his release. John watched him in amusement as the crew stepped forward.

“He triggered it,” John stated, “I think it was half on accident. Ahh… sorry about any mess. I’ll clean it up.”

“We have a crew that handles it,” The doctor replied, giving John a suspicious look, “Frankly we’re used to quite a bit _more_ mess.”

“Oh, well, good then,” John replied, shoving at Sherlock until he hopped lightly out of the pod.

John scrambled out and smiled fondly at his cat as he sat there with one leg tossed up into the air and his tongue hurriedly cleaning his diminishing prick. Janine and Dr. McCoy were muttering between them and McCoy stepped forward with a glare firmly in place.

“How long have you had your pet?” McCoy asked, his tone one of annoyance.

“A couple of months?” John shrugged, “Why?”

“Have you two been intimate.”

John shrugged, “Define intimate?”

“ _Sexually,”_ McCoy glared harder. John was certain he’d have set fire to him mentally if possible.

“Not until today.”

“Damn it, Watson!” McCoy snapped while Janine huffed in apparent disgust, “That procedure is meant for pets and owners who are close enough emotionally to tolerate a mental bond! There could be irreparable damage from this!”

“I feel fine,” John shrugged, “And _he’s_ happy as a pig in shit. You lot should have mentioned that in the interviews if it was a prerequisite.”

“We did!”

“Not clearly enough or I’d have said something,” John decided to half-lie. He’d known they were assuming a sexual relationship, but not that it was necessary.

The two glanced at each other and heaved a sigh.

“We’ll have to go with it now, sir,” Janine pointed out.

McCoy nodded, “You two tell me _immediately_ if anything seems out of place or wrong. We want to know the second you start having issues between you. Got it? That _clear_ enough for you, soldier?”

“Sir, yes sir,” John saluted amicably.

“Now piss off.”

XXX

John was given leave time to adjust to his bond. He was told not to go out in public until he felt ‘safe’ to. Whatever that meant. As such he was bound to the station for a few days with Sherlock going stir-crazy in their rooms. He apparently was planning on obeying the rule about not going out in public- or perhaps he instinctively sensed why and John was just dense as Sherlock’s glares implied- but that meant that he was cooped up and frustrated.

They were in the middle of a one-sided screaming match in which John accused Sherlock of being wantonly destructive while using a chewed and scratched up desk chair as ‘Exhibit A’, when McCoy buzzed the door and entered without waiting for a response.

John squared his shoulders and didn’t comment on the breach in protocol due to McCoy’s higher rank. He waited patiently for the man to speak while Sherlock sat on the floor with his tail lashing back and forth in irritation.

“I was told to check on you,” McCoy stated, eyes narrowed in concern, “You’ve not left your room in three days and people heard shouting.”

“We were having a row,” John shrugged, answering the second implied question first, “And you told us not to go out in public.”

“Until you felt _comfortable_. Do you always have this much trouble following instructions?”

“You know from my service record I don’t,” John replied, “I was waiting for Sherlock to be ready.”

“He’s not ready to leave the room?” McCoy asked, staring at the damage around him, “Unless this is _all_ from your row, I’d say he’s damn near climbing the walls.”

“Oh, he’s _quite_ capable of climbing the walls,” John replied, and pointed to some claw marks on the ceiling.”

“Great Scot!” McCoy looked impressed, then gave John a wary look, “I need to know about your fight, John. What’s been going on here? Are either of you violent towards the other?”

John barked out a laugh, “Sherlock takes a chunk out of my flesh every couple of hours. It’s his way of saying hello. Always has been. He’s a vicious little shit. _Ow!_ ”

John waved his hand towards the feline who sat glaring at his ankles with one paw raised and all five claws unsheathed.

“He’s used it as a form of communication in the past,” McCoy stated with a shrug, “But he should be able to communicate with you better now. Those sorts of displays shouldn’t be necessary anymore.”

“He’s been blocking me out,” John replied.

“ _Blocking_ you?”

“Yeah, keeping his thoughts in his head. His emotions to himself. I can feel them when he sleeps, but when he’s awake he shuts me out.”

“Have you two been intimate yet?”

John’s ears coloured, “You lot are pretty fired up about that. I’m not used to my CO’s wanting that sort of information. It’s damn near creepy and against regulations.”

“I’m your doctor as well as your temporary CO. You’ll answer the question.”

“No,” John replied. It was something he was sorely sorry for, as Sherlock in the throws of passion was his new favourite thing, “He’s not been interested.”

“Ask him why.”

“What?”

“Talk to him. Ask him why he’s not interested in sex. We might have a bigger problem here than your bond being off.”

John sighed and sat down on the floor crosslegged so as not to hover over Sherlock. He relaxed a bit and placed both hands on his knees so he could lean up and rub his head against John’s chin.

“Hey, Lock. Talk to me, yeah? Why aren’t you into… Bloody hell, this is weird. He’s got a right to say no, doesn’t he?”

“Have you tried to initiate?” McCoy asked.

“The books all said cats have to make the first offer.”

“The first time yes, but after that you can make the first move by sniffing his anus.”

“I do that sometimes. Then he flops down and goes to sleep.”

“Well, ask him why! Come on! I haven’t _got_ all day!” McCoy huffed in irritation.

“Sherlock… why don’t you want to go further than me sniffing your arse?” John asked reluctantly and with his cheeks burning up.

Sherlock was cleaning his paw during their discussion. He paused mid-lick at John’s question and slowly lifted his head. The tip of his tongue was still sticking out and it was adorable. John smiled and tapped it with a finger, causing Sherlock to abruptly withdraw it. He cocked his head to the side and then leaned forward to sniff at John’s mouth.

Then the emotions came flooding forward as Sherlock dropped the barriers. He also fled, bolting into the pull-out drawers beneath the bed that he’d claimed as his own the second they’d been moved into these rooms.

“He’s afraid,” John stated, “He’s worried I’ll leave him and doesn’t want to get attached. He shouldn’t feel that, he _knows_ I’m dedicated to this _and_ him. Oh, hell, he _does_ know I’m committed- on a deeper level than just me acting like it- but he’s scared anyway. He’s also annoyed that he’s being irrational.”

“Okay,” McCoy joined John in sitting crosslegged on the floor, much to John’s surprise, “This is good. Why is he afraid you’ll dump him?”

“He’s been burnt before,” John replied, not needing to consult Sherlock on that one, “He had two…”

_< Three.>_

“John?” McCoy asked.

John was shaking. He could hear his breath had gone ragged and he had to clench his hands to his knees to keep himself from curling up on the floor in alarm.

“He just talked in my head. Clearly. Not just emotions flitting about, real _words_.”

“It’s usually shocking and invasive the first time, but you’ll adjust to it. You can also learn to block him out if you need to.”

“No,” John shook his head adamantly, “I don’t need to block him. I’m _never_ blocking him. My head is his head.”

“That’s… very open minded of you,” McCoy said, giving him a worried look, “Can you call him out?”

“In my head?” John asked, his voice cracking embarrassingly.

“However you feel comfortable. The verbal part isn’t a necessary part of your job. Your pet is meant to be your comfort when human contact and entertainment are limited, but he isn’t meant to take over your entire life.”

 _Too late_ , John thought to himself, then chuckled a bit as he heard a deep chuckle come from somewhere in his head, _Hello Sherlock. Your voice is so deep. I like your laugh._

_< You sound soft and warm.>_

_Will you come out of there? McCoy wants to see you._

_< Is that his name?>_

_You didn’t know?_

_< Some things elude me. I can read quite a bit and I understand basic human speech, but many times things like these _names _you use make no sense. >_

_What do you call yourself?_

_< Black and White Tom with Stroppy Attitude was my mother’s term for me.>_

_That’s a bit long._

_< We can communicate that with a single look. Mothers have a special sound for each kitten that imparts all she feels and thinks about them in a single ‘meow’. There was no need for words. I merely translated her sound to you.>_

_That’s… beautiful._

_< If I come out you must promise not remove my testicles.>_

_I promise,_ John replied, a bit amused, _Why did you think I would?_

_< You humans are obsessed with genitals. Whenever me lifting my tail and presenting my arse comes up in a conversation the inevitable end of that discussion is that I should have my testicles removed.>_

_Fuck everyone who ever suggested that to you._

_< I believe that was their exact problem with my testicles in the first place. They were under the impression that removing them would make me more complacent.>_

_I’m under the impression it would make you murderous._

_< You are a great deal more enlightened than my previous pets.>_

Sherlock slithered back out of the drawer, leaving it open so he could bolt back in again if he needed to, and walked proudly over to them as if he was absolutely _not_ fearing for his testicles. He offered his side to McCoy who reached out to pet him with a polite smile.

“How’s it going in your heads?”

“It’s nice, actually,” John replied in surprise, “He wants a promise from us not to remove his testicles.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” McCoy scoffed, “Look, you two take a couple more hours to settle and then try a walk around the Ten-Forward. I’ll be there if you have any trouble.”


	6. Chapter 6

John got Sherlock playing and laughed as the cat snarled and growled while chasing a laser around the cabin. Apparently he was completely aware of the fact it was merely light, but instinct screamed for him to chase it anyway. He muttered in John’s head and bolted around. John worried a bit about how open their connection now was. He knew how jealous Sherlock could get, what would happen when a handsome man passed him by?

 _Assuming there are any pretty me-_ “OW!”

John frowned and rubbed at his ankle where Sherlock had just clawed him, _< Mine. My human.>_

“Yeah, I get it. Yours. Fine. Look, can we head to Ten-Forward now? I get the impression we’re less than inspiring at the moment.”

_< Fine.>_

Sherlock’s tail flicked imperiously and he turned slowly around to head to the doorway. Once there he stood up on his hind legs and waited patiently for John to activate the door. John had no doubt that Sherlock knew how to override the mechanism that kept Sherlock from escaping unescorted, but he was apparently keeping it mum. He triggered the door, typed in the passcode that allowed Sherlock to leave, as well, and walked into the hallway.

 _Oh my gods_.

John fled back into the room and slammed his hand down on the panel to shut and lock it. Sherlock’s ears were flattened to his head, his eyes wide, and his puffed up tail flashing back and forth. John scooped him up into his arms, those short legs going around his waist, and paced the small cabin anxiously. He wasn’t sure what had just happened. He’d walked into the hall and been assaulted with a sense of absolute terror. Now he took slow, deep breaths to get himself calm enough to rationalize what had happened.

“Okay,” John stated, talking outloud to Sherlock and hoping it translated telepathically since he still wasn’t 100% sure how to control it, “We know the walls and door contain psychic barriers. We’ve been fine while inside. I didn’t actually ‘hear’ anything, did you?”

< _Yes. >_

“That’s problematic,” John replied, “What did you hear?”

_< Everything. Everyone. There are so many people out there and a lot of them don’t like cats. Two of them EAT cats and were thinking that I was tasty looking yesterday. They were discussing it.>_

“Over my dead body,” John informed him firmly.

< _Pet me before I bite you. I’m a cat, not a baby. I detest being_ rocked _like a human infant. >_

“Sorry, sorry,” John sighed, shifting a bit so he could drop down into a chair.

Sherlock rubbed his face all over John’s shoulder, cheek, and ear, purring loudly as John stroked him with both hands from head to the tip of his lashing tail, capturing the energetic limb to stroke it fully. He turned his head a bit and buried his face in Sherlock’s ruff, breathing in his familiar and comforting scent. Sherlock grumbled in the back of his head and shifted away, licking at John’s hair and then chewing on it anxiously.

“Hey now, talk to me. You shouldn’t be able to hear them, so…”

< _Don’t ask me if I’m sure. I’m not_ insane _, you know. >_

“Okay, valid point. So, you can hear people’s minds. That’s… problematic. I better call for McCoy.”

< _Now? >_ Sherlock asked, his tone plaintive, < _I want more petting. >_

“Well, I’m loving it too, but…”

< _I’ll reward you with touching. >_

“Reward me with… What sort of touching?”

Sherlock responded by turning about and presenting his arsehole for inspection. This they’d done a time or two, so John leaned forward to politely sniff at it as he always did. Sherlock responded by pushing back a bit and he got a nose full of cat butt. John leaned back in surprise but quickly found his mouth watering as he saw Sherlock’s little pucker gape from his unintentional prodding.

“Sherlock…” John hesitated even as he licked a thumb and rubbed at the little bud, “Are you sure about this?”

 _< More touching.>_ Sherlock insisted, pushing back on him.

John removed his thumb and leaned forward to slide his wet tongue along Sherlock’s bum. The cat let out a startled noise and John leaned back and grinned.

“More?”

Sherlock’s response was to push back again, backing up to put his feet squarely on John’s thighs. It hurt like a bitch, his weight practically separating John’s muscles. He ignored it in favour of petting Sherlock while running his tongue around in circles. Sherlock purred loudly and John groaned as he felt the vibration against his tongue.

_What will it feel like to have him purring around my cock?_

_< Wouldn’t YOU like to know?>_

_Maybe I SHOULD learn how to block you._

_< Don’t you dare. You are MINE.>_

_No argument here. I think you claimed me in the pet store._

_< Obviously.>_

John shifted as his erection began to grow at an odd angle due to his uniform. Sherlock gave him a dirty look as he shifted him off so he could kneel up and adjust his prick. Then he turned fully and sniffed at his crotch curiously.

“Want me to return the favour?” John asked, reaching for his zip, “You’ve never sniffed my bum.”

 _< Off.>_ Sherlock informed him, hooking his zipper with a claw and tugging it downward.

John grinned and stripped off his clothes, then thought better of it and headed for the door to set it to privacy. John returned to where Sherlock stood on all fours, his tail lashing in excitement. He could see the feline’s damp cock was half-emerged from its sheath. John dropped back onto the ground on his knees, fighting down the giggle at how silly he felt naked on the floor on all fours with a cat eager to sniff his arse.

“You’re lucky I’ve been washing up in the hopes you’d show interest,” John smirked, turning his bottom to Sherlock.

 _< You are fat. Move it.>_ Sherlock informed him.

“Oi, my arse isn’t _fat_ , it’s _plump_. There’s a difference.”

< _The difference is that I cannot easily access your hole. Move your plumpness. >_

This time John did snicker then lowered his shoulders and spread his cheeks wide with both hands. He had a moment of worry over whether or not he should have waxed his arsehole, and then recalled that Sherlock wouldn’t be bothered by hair. Sherlock sniffed between John’s spread cheeks, leaning in to press a slightly damp and cool nose to John’s pucker. John felt himself clench from the cold and Sherlock promptly sneezed on his arsehole.

“That was disgusting,” John informed him, laughing despite himself.

_< You are very naked.>_

“Yes, I am that.”

< _I want to lick it. >_

Those words went straight to John’s cock and his brain promptly shut off. John was by no means a bottom, but neither was he a power top, and the few times he _had_ bottomed it had started with enough rimming to get him into the mood. The very idea of having Sherlock’s strange tongue against his tender pucker had gooseflesh breaking out on his arms.

_< Interesting. You were giving me all sorts of signs of wanting to mount me, but now that I’ve suggested this… rimming… your back has relaxed.>_

“It’s way sexier when you psychoanalyse me than when my shrink does.”

_< Stop talking.>_

_Bossy prick._

_< That’s better. I like your words being mine. They are also easier to understand this way.>_

_Okay. That’s… I’m starting to feel like I should be wearing the collar instead of you._

_< Hmm,> _Sherlock considered, _< That is an arousing thought.>_

Thankfully for John’s libido Sherlock didn’t act on it. Instead he leaned in and lapped delicately at John’s arsehole as if it were a treat laid out for him. John gasped in surprise. Sherlock’s tongue was rougher than a human’s, so the dainty touch was almost too much for him. He felt his cock throb between his legs.

 _Perhaps the underside?_ John suggested.

Sherlock complied without arguing and the underside of his tongue, far softer than the top, soon had John panting and moaning heatedly.

_Have… have you ever done this? With anyone? Cat or human?_

_< Sex is entirely new to me.>_

_Then… I think this is good. It’s cruel to have someone bottom their first time. I want you to enjoy this._

_< You’re being very presumptuous. Who says I’m ready for penetrative sex?>_

_Sorry just… overeager._

_< I am, of course, but you were still being bold.>_

_I can’t decide if I love or hate you._

_< Both.>_

Sherlock’s caresses turned more insistent and John moaned heatedly pushing back a bit. Sherlock levered himself up onto John’s hips, pushing down on them with his hands. John spread his legs a bit, panting as his bollocks swung between his thighs. Sherlock’s damp cock pushed against his pucker. John pulled away a bit, not sure if this was wise. He had bottomed a bit, and he’d trained his arse with one partner just for fun, but Sherlock hadn’t stretched him at all. Still, the feline had a smaller cock than his last lover and it was naturally wet…

_< Stretch? What is this stretch you’re thinking of?>_

_It’s to make my body ready to receive you._

_< Do so.> _Sherlock ordered, his cock still brushing against John’s entrance, _< Do it quickly. I long for you.>_

John swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth and scrambled up, leaving Sherlock growling in frustration on the floor as he bolted for his bedside and some lube. He spread his legs and prepared himself with Sherlock watching, needing him to know what this was and how careful he’d be when it came his cats turn to bottom. John enjoyed the slide of his fingers, curling them to tease his prostate and moaning wantonly. He could feel Sherlock studying his mind curiously, watching John’s motions with both mind and eyes. The cat’s ears twitched curiously with his emotions, most of them anxious and aroused.

John returned to the floor once he could comfortably scissor two fingers in himself and dropped down to his previous position. Sherlock mounted him almost frantically and pressed the pointed tip of his cock inside. He pushed home in one go, inexperience making him frantic, and John was _very_ grateful he’d taken time to prepare himself. Sherlock was instantly fucking fast and hard, his breath hot against John’s back. Like any virgin he was overwhelmed by the satisfaction, and John gasped as he felt the echo of his pleasure inside of his mind. It couldn’t have been more than six thrusts before Sherlock yowled, slamming home and coming hard in John’s body. He made a few more subtle shifts of his hips before sliding free and nearly staggering away. John turned quickly, ignoring his own throbbing cock and the fluids leaking from his body to pull Sherlock’s quivering form against him.

“It’s okay. That was gorgeous. No one lasts long their first time,” John soothed.

Sherlock’s ears were flickering from proud to embarrassed and back again, so John held him close and pushed thoughts of love, acceptance, and adoration to him. Sherlock broke out in a purr and John moaned as the vibration stimulated his cock as it was pressed against Sherlock’s stomach. Sherlock shifted up and nuzzled his cheek again, licking at his lips until John opened his mouth. Their tongues slid together and John moaned a bit as he pulled Sherlock more firmly into his lap. He scrambled for the lubricant while Sherlock nipped along his neck and then dug his teeth into John’s shoulder. His mind wasn’t aggressive so John hissed in pain but didn’t attempt to pull away from the bite. Sherlock was panicking. He wanted to please John but now that he’d been sated the fear was back. John eased back, pulling Sherlock with him until the feline was straddling his stomach and safe from accidentally clawing his aching prick with his back legs.

John reached down to toss himself off and Sherlock relaxed enough to release his grip on John’s flesh. John ran his fingers through fur like satin and groaned at the pleasure that slipped through both their bodies. A purr rose up in Sherlock once again, vibrating against John’s body as he gasped and tugged on himself with long, satisfying pulls. He was so _close_ and Sherlock’s fur was so gorgeous against his body. A rough tongue licked at his neck, a nip at his ears drove John wild. He was bucking up into his fist, jarring Sherlock’s body as he chased his release. When he finally found his climax he growled possessively as he panted Sherlock’s backside and tail with come.

_< Your scent is mine now.>_


	7. Chapter 7

“Thanks for coming,” John stated, “I’m sorry about all this, sir. I wasn’t expecting him to be able to _hear_ anyone.”

“He shouldn’t be able to,” McCoy replied, “He should be _behind_ you mentally. If he’s hearing people you should be too.”

John led McCoy over to where Sherlock was cleaning his genitals on the bed, one long leg extended up over his head. He was utterly shameless and John smiled at him fondly. McCoy raised an eyebrow at the thorough was job and gave John a grin.

“Well, you two settled your differences at least.”

“Ah, yes. So. The mind thing?”

“Try probing my mind, John. See if you can get past my shields.”

John did so… or thought he did. He might have just made some funny faces. McCoy was kind enough to repress his laughter.

“Okay, now Sherlock gives it a go.”

McCoy turned and faced Sherlock, folding his arms. Sherlock glared at him mid arse-lick and then promptly closed his eyes in dismissal.

“He doesn’t seem able to.”

“He’s a cat,” John snorted, “He doesn’t do anything unless he _wants_ to. He’s being a prick.”

“Point,” McCoy nodded, “Let’s try heading out into the hall again.”

Sherlock immediately turned into a giant puffball with claws and teeth. McCoy and John took turns trying to herd him out into the hall, pulling him from every hiding place he managed and sustaining all manor of injuries. They were both a bloody mess by the time they got him even _near_ the door.

“We’re going to need stitches!” McCoy panted, sweat dripping from his brow.

“You dizzy? I wouldn’t put it past him to put poison on the tips of his claws,” John panted.

“He wouldn’t… would he?”

“Yes,” John stated with all certainty, “Yes, he would. I once went to bed after being scratched on Tuesday and woke up Thursday with a headache. Never did find out what he’d dosed me with.”

“I’m really glad he’s on our side,” McCoy gasped, hitting the door mechanism.

Sherlock froze, all four legs on the floor and shaking like a leaf. John was behind him to keep him from bolting and he felt like the biggest arsehole in existence. Sherlock was clearly terrified. His pupils were so small his eyes looked like the sea and he was stiff as a board.

“I can feel how awful this is for him,” John groaned, “There has to be a better way.”

“All my equipment is in the lab,” McCoy replied, “The tricorders can only do so much, you know.”

“Can’t we… sedate him?” John asked.

“Without knowing what’s going on with him that could be more harmful than helpful.”

“He _told_ me what’s going on! He can read other people’s minds!” John argued.

“That’s just impossible, John.”

“It’s the damn truth!” John snarled, “Why would he make that up? Look at him! He says two people on this station want to eat him!”

“The Snorlaxians?” McCoy asked in surprise, “John, are you sure _you_ aren’t hearing them?”

“No!” John snapped, “I’m not hearing a thing, he is! He told me he could hear them, and _I relayed it to you!_ ”

“Have him find out their names,” McCoy suggested.

“Sherlock, what are their names? The Snor… whatever the folks were who wanted to eat you?”

Sherlock didn’t reply. He was too distraught. Instead he crawled over to John and mewled pitifully, rubbing his side against John’s legs and staring up at him with forlorn eyes, his ears plastered against his head so tightly they disappeared in his curls. John took pity on him and scooped him up. Sherlock wrapped his arms and legs around John’s body and clung for dear life while John leaned to compensate for the weight.

“He’s not answering. He’s too upset,” John replied.

“Okay,” McCoy replied and keyed the door shut again, “I believe you. I believe you both. I’ll tranq him and we’ll keep him under until we can figure this out.”

“Is he ever going to be able to be outside of a shielded room again?” John asked, “That will _break_ him. He’s too wild for that!”

“We’ll train him,” McCoy soothed, “He’ll be fine.”

_< We won’t make our mission!>_

“He’s worried about the mission.”

“They can’t leave without a doctor,” McCoy replied, “At the moment you’re the only candidate not deployed. Unless someone comes home or signs up and trains fast they’ll wait for you. Worry about this for now.”

 

_Sorry for the short chapter, but I wanted to throw you something._


	8. Chapter 8

**TAG CHANGE: I’m warning you now. In a few chapters we’re going to see a significant change in the story that I hadn’t anticipated when I started. Johncroft, Sherstrade, and dub-con elements. If you hate any of these feel free to find something more to your liking. :)**

They came for Sherlock an hour later, a sedative at the ready. John expected Sherlock to fight them again, but though he had his ears plastered to his head he was as docile as a lamb. He plucked at the front of John’s uniform as he knelt by his side while they injected him.

_< I want something that smells like you.>_

“Can he wear my scarf?” John asked.

“I don’t see why not,” McCoy replied, “Just keep it loose around his neck. Don’t want him choking himself.”

John fetched his scarf and wrapped it around Sherlock’s neck, smiling softly at him. He handed him his stuffed toy hedgehog and Sherlock gnawed at it’s ear anxiously. The medicine was making him droopy and tired, but he wasn’t leaving until he was out cold. John held him in his lap and stroked his fur while the he made confused whimpers while the drug messed him up a bit. Finally he was limp in John’s lap and he lifted him and laid him down on a stretcher. The stretcher, doctor, and Sherlock were all beamed to sickbay.

John had been forced to wait outside since his own psychic abilities would only distress Sherlock more and cause him to fight the sedative. He watched from a monitor as they put Sherlock through machine after machine before beaming him back to their rooms. He woke up groggy and was immediately sick all over himself. He looked so repulsed that John bolted for a flannel and gently wiped him down with it. He tried to make his motions feel like a tongue cleaning him instead of a bath and Sherlock responded well.

“I’ll put you in the sonic shower once you’re feeling up to it,” John promised.

Sherlock whined but didn’t argue out loud- or otherwise- in fact he seemed listless and miserable. John figured it was from the sedatives still and allowed the foul smelling feline into his lap.

“Ugh, now that’s love,” McCoy replied, “I never get used to that smell, no matter how many times I come into contact with it. It always seems worse when it’s from a meat eater.”

“True,” John smiled a bit.

“Your medical evaluation came in…”

“Sod that, what about Sherlock?” John asked.

McCoy sighed, “He’s definitely capable of reading minds, but he’s got no control over it. We’ve got a Betazoid counsellor coming over from another station who will be taking the slot of the counsellor who was going to go with you originally. She’ll be helping him learn to deal with this transition during your trip to Gamma nine. It’s all in your…”

“Just a moment,” John clarified with a shake of his head, “We’re shipping out? He can’t leave the room!”

“All the rooms on your shuttle will include psychic shielding, he’ll just be stuck in yours. Frankly after seeing his attitude that _might_ be a good thing.”

“It’s inhumane!” John stammered.

“Well technically despite being declared in the sentient category he is still…”

“I meant me!” John snapped, “He’ll drive me insane!”

McCoy chuckled, “You _can_ request medical leave, but I don’t anticipate it will do you much good. He’s going to adjust to this, and quickly. Animals deal with it better than people do.”

“What about _how_ this happened?” John asked, “What if it keeps getting worse and he turns into some mad god-complex power-hungry…”

“You watch too much sci-fi,” McCoy scoffed, “We’ve reviewed the tapes of your procedure and determined it was the spike in your relationship that caused it. You bonded emotionally and physically while in the chamber rather than before hand. That’s why he was taking so long to absorb anything, but at the end he got a huge dose when his hormone levels finally shot up. A spike. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s odd, but anomalies do happen sometimes.”

“So we just… ship out?”

“In one month, I believe,” McCoy stated, handing him a pad, “I’ll be in sickbay if you need me to patch you up again. Hey Sherlock! Try to leave him some skin, yeah?”

With that McCoy left John and Sherlock to their own devices, John staring in shock while Sherlock made sure his arse was as clean as felinely possible.

XXX

The Betazoid counselor was sitting on what was left of the couch. Sherlock had torn it to shreds and built a little nest inside of it much like the one in their flat. He’d destroyed so much of it, and stolen the cushions, that the counselor was relegated to sitting on the arm. Currently Sherlock was inside of the couch hissing at him.

“I’m sorry,” John sighed, dangling Sherlock’s favourite toy, “He’s kind of a prick.”

_< That thing smells disgusting! Get rid of it!>_

_That’s your COUNSELOR. You need to come out and talk to him. His name is Sharad._

_< I will kill it and discard of its bones in my litter box!>_

_No, you will come out of there and talk to him._

_< It smells like rotten fruit!>_

_It’s cologne. It smells like fruit, not rotten fruit._

_< It smells like garbage soaked in vinegar and left to rot in a tropical climate!>_

That got John. He chuckled a bit.

“I’m sorry,” Sharad chuckled, “Maybe I should shower and come back?”

“Er… heard that, did you?” John winced.

“Most of it. He’s broadcasting sporadically.”

Sharad left and John continued to try to coax Sherlock out, turning up the air to try and dispel the scent in the room. Sherlock was still refusing to come out so John tried to reach in and pull him out. That earned him a few nasty cuts. He’d set himself up in the backrest of the couch but John couldn’t quite reach him as he had climbed up into it as far back as he could.

Sharad returned just as John finished cleaning up his most recent wounds. He sat himself down on the armrest again and tried talking to Sherlock. The cat at least didn’t hiss at him this time. John offered Sharad tea and then sat down on the armrest after passing it along. He was sipping coffee himself, trying to stay awake long enough to study the files for their departure.

“Do you usually sit so far away from him?” Sharad wondered.

“He’s _inside_ the couch, and he took the pillows with him,” John scoffed.

“He misses you.”

“He can come out.”

“He doesn’t feel safe with me yet. He can hear me inside his head and it frightens him,” Sharad explained.

“He can come out of there and deal with it like a man,” John sniffed, “From what McCoy told me _this isn’t going away._ Being rude isn’t going to help matters.”

“He’s not being rude,” Sharad snorted, “Not for a cat. Cats often pick sections of a home and defend them, inviting lovers and playmates inside and keeping their enemies out. If someone wants to spend time with him, they need to go to him or invite him into their nest.”

“So I should ask him to sit on our bed?” John wondered.

“He probably won’t leave his territory until I leave or he becomes comfortable with me. I’d advise you to go to him since you have that option. He’ll feel safer faster if you’re with him.”

John stood up and sat down on the uncomfortably bare couch, raising his hands in frustration and then slouching down against the stripped backing. Sharad gave him an annoyed look and shook his head.

“ _Inside_.”

“Yeah, if this is a short joke…”

“John, you _do_ know he isn’t human, don’t you?”

“Oh, so _that’s_ why he has a tail!”

“I’m serious,” Sharad scolded lightly, “You can’t humanize him. He’s not human. He’s intelligent for a cat, lower level sentient, but you do him a great disservice by trying to force him to be human. You’re going to have to get down on his level from time to time and give him the confidence he needs to approach you from time to time. Otherwise he’s not going to feel welcome with you.”

“You make him sound so _dumb_ and _base_ ,” John snarled.

“Did you know that cats don’t vocalize with each other the way they do with us?” Sharad asked.

“I do now.”

“They only mew with their mothers and humans,” John gave him a curious look and Sharad continued, “To him you’re protector, provider, and comforter.”

“I think you’re mentally tapping into some other cat,” John sassed.

“I think you need more work than he does,” Sharad sighed.

“If you get me kicked off this mission,” John started, tone low and angry.

“Not that kind of work,” Sharad replied, shaking his head, “Work with Sherlock.”

“Is this back to us not shagging every five minutes?!” John snapped.

“Sex isn’t necessary for you two to be close, it’s just the fastest route. Bonding with him on an emotional level will also deepen your relationship, and it will help Sherlock deal with his newfound abilities.”

“Fine,” John sighed, rubbing his thighs a moment before prying himself out of his uncomfortable seat.

John knelt down by the opening on the side of the couch and tore at it a bit to widen it.

“Ask his permission first.”

“In cat, human, or psychic?” John asked with a fake smile.

“Whichever way reaches him best.”

John sighed, _May I come in?_

_< Yes. If the other one stays out there. And you bring water and food.>_

_I’m not going to let you piss in there!_

_< I’m not a kitten! I don’t piss where I sleep!>_

John stood up and headed for the replicator, ordering the food Sherlock preferred (meat substitute mixed with cat food #2) and a bowl of water. He returned and pushed them in first. Sherlock collected them and John crawled into the back of the couch.

Sherlock had spread out the stuffing from the cushion all over the floor beneath the couch and laid the covering over it along with a blanket. The result was a very springy and comfortable nest inside the couch. John could sit down on it and stretch his legs out beneath the seat part, leaning back against a pillow that was left inside. Sherlock crouched beside him and stared curiously at the sight of his human inside of one of his hideaways. The feline had also collected several of John’s socks, a shoelace, and his scarf. They were all in the corner behind Sherlock along with the cat’s toys but John wasn’t stupid enough to try and touch them.

“So…” John looked around the dim area curiously, “This is nice.”

Sherlock blinked at him, his eyes reflecting back the bit of light that was coming in through the opening at the side.

_< This is my cave.>_

_Yeah, I noticed._

_< I’m going to make kittens and raise them here.>_

_Make them with… whom?_ John asked, suddenly felling a harsh pang of jealousy.

_< You.>_

John winced, _Sherlock, I’m male. We can’t have babies together. We could adopt some day if you want, but neither of us are going to give birth._

_< We won’t?>_

_< How are kittens made?>_

_When a male and a female of the same species have sex. You could bed a female or I could… er… well I could through a test tube. I’ve never been into women, truth be told. What about you? Do you like female cats?_

_< The ones that have no shaft?>_

_< No. I like to play with a shaft. And I like the way the shafted ones smell.>_

_Yeah, me too._

_< Then we can not have kittens?>_

_Afraid not. Not unless we adopt, and kittens are a lot harder to adopt. Most mothers don’t give them up these days, out of concern for perverts._

_< No perverts will touch my kittens.>_

_Well… no,_ John sighed, not sure he was getting through to Sherlock. He’d have to look into adoption at some point. Surely Sherlock would be content with finding a random kitten in his nest?

_< Will you touch my shaft?>_

_Well, the counsellor is right there…_

_< Will you clean me?>_

_Not with my tongue, I won’t._

_< With your hand?>_

_You mean pet you?_

_< Yes, of course.> _Sherlock snorted in amusement, < _Do you not call petting anything besides petting? >_

_Ummm, foreplay?_

Sherlock laughed inside John’s head, huffing a bit out loud as he did. John grinned and chuckled a bit.

_So you really think of it as cleaning?_

_< Yes. It feels like cleaning. It feels good.>_

John reached out and stroked Sherlock’s hair, scratching behind his ears and slipping beneath his chin. Sherlock took up a purr instantly, moving closer and inviting John in more as well. John ended up lying on his side, curled up a bit as he petted Sherlock. Sherlock slipped onto his side and his tail flopped on John’s face, lifting occasionally only to drop back down again. John chuckled when it tickled him and forgot all about Sharad as he stroked silky fur and tried to avoid Sherlock’s foot whenever the cat stretched. Eventually he fell asleep and when they woke up hours had passed and the counsellor was long gone.

XXX

Two weeks of regular counselling had Sherlock relaxed enough to leave their rooms, but he’d been so stressed he’d rarely allowed John more than an occasional cuddle. Sex was fully off the table and John was both frustrated and sympathetic towards his anxious pet. Then after a session John decided he had needs as well, so he initiated with Sherlock for a change.

Sherlock was stretched out on the bed, half asleep after having been exhausted by his training with Sharad, when John crawled up onto the bed with a predatory gleam in his eye. Sherlock blinked at him slowly, a greeting for his kind, and John returned it before smirking as he crawled closer. He leaned down and sniffed at Sherlock’s nose, then moved down his body in this way until he was gently sniffing his bum. He nuzzled at the seam between tail and arsecheek and Sherlock’s tail twitched up. Sherlock lifted his hips, tail moving up, to give John access to his arsehole.

With a hungry moan, John dove in for a quick sniff- just to give Sherlock his due- and then a hungry lick. Sherlock burst into a deep purr instantly so John licked him more fully, pushing his tongue against that soft entrance and wriggling it about insistently. Sherlock let out a soft keening noise and John’s cock throbbed insistently. John snatched up the lube and wet three digits, stroking his middle finger along Sherlock’s pucker. The feline responded positively and John’s finger sank in easily. He pumped it while the cat panted a bit and shifted his legs on the bed. John pressed a second digit in by the first and pumped that before scissoring them. Sherlock’s bum opened up for him eagerly, the feline whimpering a bit at the burn but otherwise receptive. John pumped his fingers, curling them to find Sherlock’s prostate and reduce the cat to whimpers and grunts of pleasure, and then pushed in that third finger.

Sherlock stilled, hissed I alarm, and gave John a warning glare over his shoulder.

“Just a bit,” John promised, holding his hand still, “I’m pretty big, Lock. Just a bit.”

John waited until Sherlock’s rumbling growl receeded and then pumped his hand two more times before stretching his fingers out a bit. Sherlock keened, his prostate unintentionally grazed, and began to push back on John’s digits. John smirked and reached down to stroke his furred bollocks. Sherlock growled again, but this time it sounded more encouraging than provoking.

John pulled his fingers free, smeared lubricant over his hand, wiped it off on some tissues to avoid mussing Sherlock’s fur, and lined his cock up with that now-gaping pucker. John pushed in slowly, moaning at the suckling feeling of Sherlock’s entrance trying to swallow him down. He stopped halfway in and pulled out a bit before pushing that final distance. Sherlock’s purr had stopped and he was completely still, panting once again in clear distress. John took a moment to stroke his furr, and scratch behind his ears. Sherlock’s purr whelled up again and John gasped at the feel of it wrapped around his dick.

“Oh gods,” John moaned, slipping most of the way out and then plunging back into him. Sherlock’s body was _heavenly_ ; tight, warm, and rumbling like a sex toy.

Sherlock began to push back after a few more thrusts and John moaned eagerly at his participation, his own hips speeding up as he began to thrust his pet with more enthusiasm. Sherlock growled and snarled, his hips pushing back firmly to shove his bum into John’s abdomen as he began to yowl aloud in apparent pleasure. Previously he’d been mostly silent during sex, but it seemed bottoming brought out the feral cat in him. He made all manor of wild noises while kneeding and tearing at the bedspread. Then he took things one step forward and dropped his shoulders completely, taking the quilt into his mouth and _biting_ down on it as he screamed in pleasure. John stilled as Sherlock’s muscles clenched around him and the feline came untouched beneath him.

John hadn’t been ready yet, but the flutter and squeeze around his cock brought him close to the edge. He pounded into Sherlock brutally- still careful enough to avoid overstimulating him by hitting his prostate- as he took his pleasure with his own savage sounds. He knew full well he sounded like a cheap porno with all his moaning and grunting, but it was simply _too good_ to not vocalize. Sherlock was limp beneath him, head turned to focus one tired eye on John as if to say ‘ _Is that the best you can do?’_ and John was more than ready to rise to the challenge. When he came it was deep inside Sherlock’s body with a wild roar followed by a soft moan of relief. He stayed paused for a moment, simply savouring the warmth around his cock, and then slid free and let himself collapse on the bed. Sherlock’s leg immediately flew up and he chuckled as the feline licked up John’s release as it spilled from his clenching hole.

“That was damn good,” John sighed.

Then he realized he was lying in Sherlock’s release and had a good swear while the cat mentally chuckled at him. John went to shower while Sherlock spent the time cleaning his own way. When John returned he was curled up on top of the covers in silent repose, so John sat beside him and read his pad while stroking the silken fur. Sherlock was surprisingly relaxing for such an aggravating cat.


	9. Chapter 9

John was away. John was away so the cat would _play!_ Sherlock had mastered slipping the lock ages ago but kept himself close to John to make sure the silly human didn’t forget where his temporary territory was, but today they had moved to a _new_ territory and John had informed him they were going to be staying there for _years!_ Sherlock had marked his living areas and was now headed out of them to make sure his scent was in the hall outside. He was just about done rubbing and scratching at the halls when a large furry creature bounded down the hall on all fours. He was happy and letting out all manner of very _loud_ noises. Sherlock puffed up and hissed at him to remind him that one could express oneself without being a loud boor.

The dog- for once he had stilled enough to be visible he was one- cocked his head to one side. He had pointed ears that were as expressive as a cat’s and a gorgeous silver-brown coat. His tail wagged in what Sherlock assumed was a friendly way given that he was speaking a different language. Still, he was quite attractive and apparently wanted to share territory. Sherlock sometimes did so, and in this case it would be easier than fighting it out with someone who couldn’t communicate clearly. He decided to allow him to pass and stepped aside while offering to sniff him. He arched his back to give the dog access. A cold, wet nose prodded his arse as the dog eagerly gave him a greeting sniff and they walked in a circle as Sherlock followed his bum to get one in. Sherlock sat down to process the smell he’d taken in. Here was a dog who was owned by a meticulous owner, one of power and prestige, and who enjoyed being his counterbalance. When this dog’s pet human was being a cold bastard, the dog would eagerly invoke his right of playtime and help the human relax.

The human in question rounded the corner and snapped out a word. _Gregory_. The dog responded to it and Sherlock decided that was as good a name as any. Then he recalled his mental abilities and tried to reach out and touch Gregory’s mind as counsellor Sharad had been teaching him.

Gregory yelped and stilled, his tail going between his legs in terror and his ears flattening as his eyes went wide. Without meaning to the dog loosed it’s bladder and pissed on the floor, alarming his owner who shouted at him angrily. The dog paid no heed; he was frozen in place as he stared fearfully at Sherlock and whimpered in shock.

 _< I’m sorry_,> Sherlock tried, ducking down and making himself look small, _< I only wanted to speak with you. Now you hate and fear me. Alone. ALONE!>_

To Sherlock’s surprise the dog gave himself a shake, flicking his urine-soaked tail despite his owner’s outrage, and stepped up to Sherlock to give him a careful sniff on his face. Sherlock gave him a gentle nuzzle in the hopes of incurring more friendly behavior and the dog licked his head gently. Sadly the angry human was clipping a leash onto Gregory and dragging him off, but Sherlock had more than enough of his scent sitting in a puddle on the floor. He studied it for a bit, pissed on top of it, and then headed off to explore more of the ship.

A few hours later Sherlock was hungry enough to flirt with a human until it surrendered a bit of food. He allowed the petting but flitted away when the human tried to lift his tail. He knew they always wanted to touch him inside, but he wasn’t interested. That was when he ran into Gregory again. Gregory was clean and quite unafraid, giving Sherlock a yip in greeting and heading over to mock charge him. Sherlock turned sideways and hissed even as the human waved an umbrella at him. Sherlock ignored him. The human was annoying and wore too much scent. Instead he batted at the dog’s nose until Gregory decided to take things up a notch. They were happily tussling on the ground, a few humans cheering them on around them, when something strange happened. Sherlock felt his shaft emerging.

Gregory caught the scent of arousal immediately and the game shifted. He was now stalking Sherlock for a very _different_ reason and Sherlock found he wasn’t unwilling. Since John had taught him how _good_ it could feel to let someone inside of you he had been wondering about his fellow four-legged travelling companions. Would they want to touch? What would the fur feel like against his body? The myriad of scents of another of his own kind would be most welcome, but the other cats he’d seen had not drawn him as this dog did. They were unshafted, but this dog had a fine member sliding free between his thighs. Sherlock gave his tail an inviting flick and the dog charged him.

Foolish dog. Sherlock wasn’t about to surrender _that_ easily! Sherlock shot off to one side and tackled the dog when he ran headlong into the wall. While the human’s laughed Sherlock eagerly mounted the dog, who whimpered and spread his legs to give Sherlock access. Sherlock rubbed his cockhead across the dog’s bottom, eager to mount him properly, when an image flashed through his mind. The image was of the human with Gregory, and he was pressing into Gregory’s body fast and hard. Gregory loved it, and thought of it often even when he was away, but he had never been allowed one thing. He had never been allowed to mount his master. Sherlock shivered, recalling the bliss of burying himself inside of John _precious, wonderful, kind John_. He quickly dismounted and slid his body beneath Gregory, flicking his tail to one side and giving him access. Gregory howled in bliss as he pressed deep into Sherlock’s body, even as Sherlock yowled at the sudden burst of pain. The dog stilled and Sherlock held his position, growling in frustration. This was easier with John. John was _gentle_ and made way for his shaft. The dog just plowed in. Stupid dog.

Gregory eventually began to move again, his breath hot on Sherlock’s neck as he fucked him fast and hard. The pain was slowly receding and Sherlock could feel pleasure weighing in. Gregory was eager to please and leaned heavily on Sherlock’s body so he could reach down and stroke the feline’s damp shaft. Sherlock switched from growling to purring and Gregory grunted eagerly, pumping his hips faster. He was soon spilling himself inside of Sherlock, but the cat wasn’t far behind. Sherlock grunted as he spilled onto the floor and sighed in bliss at the pleasure that soaked through his body. Gregory dismounted and politely licked at Sherlock’s bottom until it was clean. Sherlock purred happily, turning about to clean Gregory’s slowly receding cock. They then settled down in lump against he wall, Sherlock purring happily as he snuggled up to a warm, furry belly. This was _nice_. It was comforting. It felt like mother and nest. Gregory was sweet and kind to him, not like other animals had been, and his owner was tolerating Sherlock now that they had settled their differences in the old way. Sherlock let his inner eyelids close and soon the outer ones drifted shut as well. They slept, Gregory’s warm breath huffing against Sherlock’s shoulder where the dog curled around him.

XXX

The ship was designed to land on the surface of a planet and meant to serve as their ‘home’ as well as their laboratory. Treads could emerge from the bottom to allow it to travel over the surface as well. Their job was to give the planet a more thorough examination than a computer ever could, studying and categorizing the flora and fauna. Only after it was ascertained that there were no unknown forms of sentience or volatile species on the planet would the Federation settle it. As such, the group was made up of scientists, their ‘pets’, a veterinarian, a maintenance team, and John. John and the veterinarian would be working together to keep both crew and sub-crew (the rather insulting term used for the pets) in working order. John was expected to learn from the vet and vice versa.

The veterinarian’s name was Molly and she was a rather shy and sweet young lady. She took an instant infatuation to Sherlock and was sorely disappointed to hear that he was as gay as a rainbow with a lisp. John was annoyed at how often people assumed Sherlock was free to be bedded by them, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Friends and neighbours often shared pets. Only putting a chastity device on him would stop it, and Sherlock intensely rejected the idea.

They were on day two of their occupation of the actual vessel, and scheduled to leave in eleven hours. John had just returned from a trip to the surface to fetch a few of their things and put his affairs in order. Most of his things were going into storage but Sherlock’s few possessions were already on the ship so he’d bought him a new toy to please him. The problem was, once he returned Sherlock was nowhere to be found.

“Anyone seen my cat?” John asked, stepping into the lab where everyone was packing up equipment for the journey.

“No,” Was the distracted reply of only one scientist. Leonard, John thought he was called.

“He wasn’t supposed to leave our rooms, but he’s gone,” John worried.

“Mmm,” Leonard grunted, securing a microscope to a ledge using a powerful magnet.

“Right well… I’ll just… go then,” John frowned, turning for the doorway. There was nothing for him to do as Molly had finished up in the medical wing while he was away.

John turned into the hallway and was bumped into by a tall man with a receding ginger hairline. He was posh to the point of being obnoxiously debonair and John took an instant dislike to him, especially when he responded to the accidental collision by giving John a look that implied he was offensive in both appearance and odour.

“Excuse _you_ ,” John snarled, turning around to glare at him.

John was instantly bowled over by a four-foot tall ball of silver and brown fur. Contrary to his owner’s disposition, the pooch turned to give John an apologetic whimper and offer him a hand up. John accepted it and frowned down at the dog.

“You okay?” John asked, ruffling his fur between his perky ears.

“Don’t touch him,” The posh bastard snarled, “It’s bad enough you nearly broke his neck! Don’t muss up his fur as well!”

John’s eyes narrowed, “He knocked _me_ on _my_ arse, not the other way around. _After_ you bumped into me.”

“Oh, my,” The man stated, putting on an apologetic face, and taking on a sarcastic tone, “Are we having a bad day? I’m _ever_ so _sorry_.”

“Listen, you…”

“I suggest you not respond,” The man replied, eyes narrowed and tone dangerous, “You’ll find yourself surface-bound at an alarming rate.”

John couldn’t help it. He laughed in the man’s face, “Did you just threaten to get me kicked off the ship?”

“You _really_ don’t know who I am, do you?” The man asked, eyes narrowed, “You don’t look the least bit scared.”

“You don’t look the least bit frightening,” John replied coldly.

“Bravery is the most honoured form of stupidity,” Mycroft replied, “It also yields the most fatalities. I don’t need a risk taker on _my_ mission.”

“Then I guess you had better find another bonded and trained doctor before we leave in less than half a day,” John replied, voice soft and angry.

The man faltered, and _oh_ did that feel good! They were now staring at each other, eyes narrowed as each tried to outlast the other. They were interrupted by Sherlock bolting between John’s legs and nearly knocking him over in the process. Sherlock launched himself at the large dog and they morphed into a rolling, hissing, biting, scratching, growling, barking pile.

“No!” John shouted, “Sherlock no! Stop!”

The posh man was laughing at them, shaking his head in amusement. He extended a brolly (why the hell??) and pushed John back with the tip of it mercilessly pressed to his chest.

“They’re _animals_ ,” The man sneered, “Let them do what they must and let the best beast win.”

“I’m not for fighting them!” John snapped.

“Your cat disagrees and has been heckling my dog for a full twenty-four hours. I suggest you not step in now to give him an unfair advantage. Gregory will _not_ forgive it. Besides, it always ends the same way, with one of them panting beneath the other.”

“Wh-what?” John asked, and stared down at the sight of the dog pushing Sherlock’s shoulders down and shoving his hips against him, “GET THE FUCK OFF MY CAT!”

John shoved Brolly aside and dragged the dog off of Sherlock, pulling his grey fur painfully in the process. The dog yelped and fled to Brolly for shelter as he stared at John in confusion. Sherlock was giving him a dirty look while John checked him over for injuries. His arsehole was red and gaping, and John gave the dog an accusing glare.

“That _thing_ has been raping my cat!”

“That _thing_ is a purebred Czechoslovakian Wolfdog!” Brolly snarled, “And _you_ are an ignorant sot!”

“I’m filing a report!” John snapped.

“Of what?” Brolly scoffed, “Their tussle? I hope you’re prepared to spend the entire trip reporting every sub-crew member. They mount each other. It’s what animals _do._ ”

“He didn’t want it!” John snarled.

“Then he shouldn’t have both instigated and _yielded_ ,” Brolly replied, “I think perhaps you underestimate your cats interest.”

“My cat’s…” John glanced down at Sherlock.

Sherlock was erect and mock-growling, his eyes darting about and occasionally glancing at Gregory the wolfdog. John felt an instant pang of jealousy, betrayal, and _misery_. Sherlock had only allowed John to top him once, though John had bottomed to him often in the recent month.

_You want him? This is it? We’re over already? I thought this was real to you!_

_< What are you talking about?> _Sherlock wondered, his ardour diminishing in the face of John’s upset, < _Why do you mourn? >_

_You’re sleeping with a dog!_

_< You dislike dogs?>_

_I dislike sharing you!_

_< Sharing me? What is sharing me? I am yours. You are mine.>_

_You’re having sex with someone else!_

_< Just a dog. A dog that has a very funny way.>_

_A funny… you’re cheating on me!_

_< I do not understand ‘cheat’.>_

_Remember you getting angry when I tried to bring a human home to have sex with?_

_< Not the same.>_

_Why the fuck not?!_

_< I didn’t like him.>_

_I don’t like this dog!_

_< Don’t be stupid. You haven’t even sniffed him yet. How could you possibly know if he is nice or not?>_

John ground his teeth in frustration while Brolly laughed at him and the dog cowered in confusion. Sherlock was obviously disgusted by John’s jealousy and stormed off in a huff. John followed after him, giving Brolly an angry glare over his shoulder.

John punched the wall after he’d sealed their door behind them. Sherlock fled to the inside of the couch (it had been moved onto the vessel when his destruction of it was discovered) while John paced their quarters angrily. Their small quarters were designed to give them a sense of privacy and so included a bedroom, bathroom, living room, and a tiny kitchenette off the living room that would allow them to cook a bit for themselves. His study was inside the bedroom.

_Okay. I don’t understand. Why would you let him fuck you? Do you not find me attractive? Or are you in love with him? Or do you not love me? Or what?_

_< I let him mount me because he won our skirmish. I too have mounted him. It was most enjoyable. You should mount him as well.>_

_Not. Interested._

_< You are most closed about this,> _Sherlock glared from the gap between the back and the bottom of the couch, his eyes shining green and angry, < _Why would you insist I not enjoy myself? You were previously worried I would have no ‘friends’ on this trip. >_

_Yeah, but I never expected you to have SEX with them!_

_< That is your concern? I will inform Gregory that sex is not allowed.>_

_That’s it?_

_< Yes, but I maintain that you are being insufferable and stubborn.>_

_I can live with that._

_< Very well. Will you calm down now? You smell most unpleasant and I had wanted petting of my shaft.>_

_Maybe for once I’d like MY shaft petted!_ John raged.

_< Then perhaps you should stop being atrocious.>_

John stormed into their bedroom and threw himself down on it, punching the pillow angrily before curling into a ball and taking a few deep breaths. Then he contacted the counsellor who hurried over. Sharad had stopped seeing them only a few days prior, and wasn’t scheduled to go with them. The fact was that the _animals_ were supposed to be their counsellors during the trip.

Sharad stepped into their flat and Sherlock slithered out of his hide-away, having bonded enough with Sharad to allow them to spend time together without a desiccated couch in between them. Sharad was stroking Sherlock’s fur when John emerged.

“He’s tattling on you,” Sharad chuckled.

“It should be the other way around!” John raged.

“You remember our conversation about Sherlock _not_ being human?”

“What ever happened to animals mating for life?!” John snapped.

“John,” Sharad stood slowly, a sad look on his face, “You know they don’t live as long as we do.”

John cringed, looking away from her, “Twenty-five years is a long time and I’m not exactly young…”

“Part of that time is going to be spent watching him grow old long before you do,” Sharad replied sadly, “You’d be doing you both a disservice if you didn’t embrace other relationships. There’s a reason why families usually take in pets. It’s just easier on everyone if all parties have other relationships, and the fact of the matter is it’s not uncommon for a family to share a pet in more than one way.”

“That’s… weird,” John made a face.

“Not really. Pets keep themselves clean and don’t transmit diseases. They can’t get pregnant or get a teen pregnant. As a parent myself I can attest that it’s rather comforting to know that my teen isn’t engaging in risky sex just yet. It build’s my daughter’s confidence in bed to have a pet and my dog can’t take advantage of her since they aren’t on equal mental footing with humans. It’s like masturbating with an intelligent toy.”

“And you sleep with him too?”

“Yes,” She smiled, “My dog takes very good care of himself hygienically, it’s no different than sharing the same shower stall so long as it’s done at different times. There’s no stigma associated with this sort of thing. It’s _very_ common.”

“Yeah,” John admitted, “I think some of my mates were up to that too. My mom was very possessive of her dog, though. She wouldn’t let my sister or I near him, wouldn’t even let us pet him. When he died while I was at Uni my parents divorced suddenly and Harry started drinking from all the stress they put her through. She was still in highschool. I’ve not liked dog since.”

“Try to remember that your childhood issues are _not_ the fault of _this_ dog. Then you will…?”

“Be more tolerant and give him a chance,” John ground out.

“The dog- Gregory was he?- Gregory isn’t competition for you. He’s an equal for Sherlock who is usually dwarfed by your capabilities.”

 _< As if,>_ Sherlock snorted, sneezing on her rudely.

_Yeah, I was kinda thinking the same thing. Still, if you really feel comfortable with Gregory… I guess it’s okay._

“John,” Sharad stood and walked over to him, squeezing his shoulder, “Your attachment to Sherlock is much more intense due to him helping you through a difficult time in your life, but don’t lose sight of the life you have outside of your relationship with him like it sounds like your mother did. You should be forming healthy, lasting relationships with _people_ , not just Sherlock. Letting him have a relationship of his own is a start.”

“Yeah,” John sighed, “Okay.”

 _< Now we can have sex?> _Sherlock asked plaintively.

“Thanks for your help,” John ushered him to the doorway hurriedly, “We’ll be fine.”

Sherlock was purring and circling the room on all fours, his tail high in the air as he showed off his pucker. John was ashamed of how aroused he was. He had an irrational urge to _claim_ Sherlock even though he’d just been soundly told that was unhealthy. Still, he was being invited for sex so…

Sadly Sherlock was raw from apparently having bottomed _multiple_ times to Lestrade. John pushed his frustration at that fact aside and stretched himself while Sherlock purred and rubbed all over him, ducking beneath his body to rub his back across John’s stomach.

“Tease,” John accused, and then spread his legs for Sherlock to access him.

Sherlock nudged his hip, < _Turn over. Gregory tells me he takes his human while they face. I want this as well. >_

Well, that statement went right to John’s cock. He’d never considered that Sherlock would utilize different positions. Now he lay on his back with his legs spread invitingly and his cock drooling on his belly. Sherlock gave his member an eager look and leaned down to run the underside of his tongue along it with a firm press. His sharp teeth glinted as he gave John an accidentally-human grin while teasing his cock. John moaned and rocked his hips hungrily. Sherlock lined himself up with John’s arse and humped him helplessly until John reached down to guide him in, the new position apparently too much for the aroused creature. Sherlock buried himself in one quick thrust and John gasped at the burn combined with his unerring hit to his prostate. Sherlock gave him a mischievous twitch of his ears, holding still as John adjusted to the intrusion. Then he began to thrust slowly, rocking John’s body as he pushed firmly against his bottom with his hips. The jarring motion vibrated through John’s body, teasing his p-spot and driving him wild at the sheer force of Sherlock’s powerful hips. The cat ran his claws delicately down John’s chest and the human groaned eagerly. All that power! Sherlock scratched him quite a bit, but no with sincerity. The truth was he could easily kill a grown man with his powerful claws.

John moaned heatedly as Sherlock’s rough tongue teased along his nipples, his soft furred belly stroking his cock with every thrust. John was coming apart beneath his feline companion and he new it. Every time he opened his eyes and stared up at Sherlock he found blown eyes staring at him with such intensity that he trembled on the cusp of his own climax. John had never come untouched while bottoming, but he’d brought his fair share of lovers off that way. Now he could feel it building inside of him and he _wanted_ it so badly!

 _< I will pleasure you until you scream, human.> _Sherlock promised, keeping his thrusts even and holding himself off with obvious strain.

_Feels so good._

_< How could you question me today?> _Sherlock asked, his tone shaming, _< Do you not know you are mine and I am yours? That I dally with another does not change that. I never look at him the way I look at you.>_

 _Do you like his smell better?_ John asked, turning his head away as desire and shame at his jealousy warred.

_< You smell of home. He smells of warm. They are not comparable. You are mine and I am yours. He is my friend who I enjoy the touch of. You will enjoy his touch as well.>_

John would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the commanding tone in Sherlock’s mental voice, but he really _wasn’t_ into dogs.

 _< What of the human?> _Sherlock suggested, _< If you make him bathe I will allow you to stick your shaft in his body. Perhaps his mouth so you can shut him up.>_

“Oh fuck!” John gasped, his cock aching as he rolled his hips to meet Sherlock’s thrusts.

_< You like this idea. Yet you do not like the human.>_

_I’m liking anything right about now,_ John confessed, feeling his bollocks draw up, _Call me yours again._

 _< Mine,> _Sherlock purred, both mentally and physically.

John let out a shocked cry, his cock spurting wildly between them, and Sherlock let out a savage cry as he came from the force of John’s clenching body. His cat looked wrecked, kneeling between his thighs and panting a bit as he stared down at John. His tail lashed from side to side and his eyelids were heavy.

“I need a bath,” John announced, thinking of his sore muscles from moving furniture and such all day.

 _< Disgusting creature!>_ Sherlock declared, shifting off of John and heading for the drawers beneath the bed.

John laughed at his cat’s peculiar attitude and headed to the bathroom for a good, long soak. Sherlock would wander in at some point despite his insistence that baths were foul, and pat at the water a bit. Then he’d try to put things in the tub to see if they floated. John had lost a comm badge that way already. All in all, things were weird but comfortable, and John knew he’d have a _lot_ to get used to.

 _For starters, who was that posh bastard today? And why did he call the trip_ his _trip? I thought the federation was running everything?_

 _< He smells of power.> _Sherlock informed John from beneath the bed.

_Yeah, he reeks of it all right, but whose power and how much shit am I in with him? And how miserable can he make my life?_

_< I will deal with him.>_

_Will you now?_

_< For you? Yes.>_


	10. Chapter 10

Three days out and Sherlock was already getting into trouble. He’d left their rooms one night while John was fast asleep- he slept on top of the covers and could easily escape without him waking up- and raided the commissary. There he had mixed several ingredients into a bowl and then attempted to cook them. John wasn’t sure if he was making food, poison, or attempting to create havoc; if it was the last than he had succeeded. Everyone had to take a turn in the commissary and the fellow whose turn it was to pound out one group meal a day- for social purposes- was ready to make a batch of cat stew. John spent an hour cleaning up his mess and dropping it all in the disposal to be recycled back into more ingredients for the next poor sod to doll out to them.

When breakfast came around, that being their chosen ‘one meal a day’ per a vote taken, everyone glared at John and Sherlock. They’d had to wait for their caffeine and toast and weren’t thrilled about it. Even Lestrade looked fed up with Sherlock and they’d been spending every day playing together. Sherlock curled up beneath John’s dining chair and pouted, growling whenever he tried to coax him to eat. When they left the social area John stayed behind to clean up a bit more out of guilt. The fellow whose turn it was in the commissary was giving him less nasty looks now that he had a full belly.

“Hey,” The fellow called, stepping up with a smile, “Sorry I shouted earlier. I’m a bear before I have my coffee.”

“Me too,” John grinned, “And Sherlock here is an arse 24/7.”

“Don’t I know it,” The man laughed, “I’m Trevor. Victor Trevor.”

“John Watson,” John smiled, shaking his hand firmly, “You’ve got a cat too, I see.”

“Not just any cat. Sherlock’s mum.”

“Wh-what?” John asked, jerking his hand back in alarm.

“He didn’t let you know? Figures. Meet Lucy. She got out of my flat during a heat and got herself up the duff. She had Sherlock and two others. Thing is, I don’t remember selling him to you, but I’m _certain_ that’s one of her kittens.”

“I got him from a shop,” John replied, “The owner told me he’d been abandoned there and then returned again after being adopted.”

“You’re kidding?!” Trevor frowned, “Lucy’s kittens are usually top demand! True, Sherlock’s not a purebred, but I can’t imagine the apple fell far from the tree.”

“Let me guess,” John said softly, “She’s wicked intelligent.”

“Highest score in the F.A.D.,” Trevor stated proudly.

“Yeah,” John nodded, “Sherlock’s got the second highest. Probably would have gotten higher if he hadn’t been goofing off.”

“You little shit,” John muttered.

“I beg your pardon?” Trevor asked.

“Not you, him,” John grunted, “I’ve been set up!”

“Er,” Trevor frowned, “What are you talking about?”

“He’s the one who insisted I join up again, and pointed out the Animatrix Division to me.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope, he must have been trying to get back to his mo-“

“You listen to your _cat?”_

John blinked, “Well, yeah. Don’t you?”

“No. She’s just a cat.”

Lucy purred at John from where she sat by Trevor’s feet, her eyes blinking happily. Sherlock crouched beside John’s feet and stared at her curiously.

“Well,” John replied, “Maybe they could spend some time together?”

“Sure,” Trevor replied, “We’re all in this together for ten full years, right? Might as well get on. See you round, John.”

Trevor took off, leaving John the rest of the cleaning, and John continued while deep in thought. He finished up and walked back to his little cabin with Sherlock at his heels seeming equally contemplative. He sat down at his little computer and turned it on, pulling up their mission and the crewmembers. He’d been spending a fair amount of time with Molly Hooper, the vet and doctor-in-training, as they both adjusted to their roles. They had to cross-train each other on the other person’s job so John had been studying when he wasn’t making eyes at Sherlock.

Victor Trevor came right up, and so did his pet who was indeed listed as a blood relation to Sherlock, which meant _someone_ had taken notice even if it hadn’t been mentioned to John specifically. He skimmed through the people curiously, studying faces and job descriptions. There were only twelve people and not all of them had pets, but a majority did have them. Several had added something to their file themselves, a sort of personal note that would help along with the trip in a non-professional way. The bits they’d added themselves were in italics.

Adler, Irene/Lisa Dog: Captain, Xenobiologist/ _Dominatrix_

Bloom, Stuart: Sociologist

Cooper, Sheldon: Biological Lifeform Analyst _/Genius_

Hoffstader, Leonard/Penny Bird: Terraform Technician/ _Boyfriend of Genius. No he’s not crazy, his mother had him tested._

Holmes, Mycroft/ Lestrade Dog, Anthea Dog: Entrepreneur.

Hooper, Molly/Tabitha Bird: Veterinarian, Animatrix Division/Assistant Medic/ _Knitting_

Kripke, Barry: Nanobiologist/ _Game Master_

Trevor, Victor/Lucy Cat: Computer Tech, Animatrix Division.

Wallowitz, Bernadette/Howard Monkey, Rajesh Monkey: Microorganism Analyst/ _Please have sex with my monkeys. Seriously, they won’t stop humping things. It’s driving me crazy._

Watson, John/ Sherlock Cat: Physician/Assistant Veterinarian

Wilson, James/Gregory Cat: Terraform Technician

13 of 40: 2nd in Command, Computer Technician

Amused by their entries, John decided to add his own. He’d been a fair hand at theatre in secondary, so perhaps they could put on a production to entertain themselves. There were plenty of books in the e-library and more than a few of them were plays. John added / _actor_ to his name and left it at that, figuring he’d discuss it at the next breakfast. He needed to start chatting with people and making friends. Sharad had been right; he couldn’t isolate himself with Sherlock all the time.

Sherlock purred and rubbed against his ankle, demanding attention and promising affection in return. John scratched at his ears while skimming over the monitor again. There wasn’t much there besides their basic information. He could go through their medical records but that felt like prying… except… entrepreneur?

“Who the hell are you, Mycroft Holmes? And how weird is it that he has the last name I chose for you in the books?”

“Mrow?” Sherlock wondered.

“Yeah, it is weird. Quite the mystery. Which makes me feel like less of an arse for prying.”

John pulled up Mycroft Holmes’ medical file and his jaw dropped.

_Mycroft Holmes, Entrepreneur:_

_No known allergies.  
No previous surgeries._

_Family History: Diabetes._

_Blood Type: O+_

_Emergency Contact: N/A_

That was it. Everything. His entire file would fit in Sherlock’s food bowl.

“Curiouser and Curiouser,” John muttered.

“Mrow,” Sherlock replied in a snippy tone. John glanced down at him and mentally prodded him, but the feline wasn’t sharing.

“Did you come here to meet your mother?” John asked, and then repeated it mentally when that didn’t garner a response.

_< That was a benefit to this trip, but it wasn’t a necessity. I wanted to go into space.>_

_You have dreams of being an astronaut, eh?”_

_< What is an astro-nut.>_

_Nevermind. Old world term. Why did you want to go to space?_

Sherlock replied, _ <I was born in space and I wanted to return. It feels like home.>_

_Fair enough. I missed being of use, frankly. I never felt occupied enough on Earth. What do you know of this ‘Mycroft’ fellow?_

_< Whom?>_

_Lestrade’s owner… er… pet. Whichever._

_< Owner. Cats own humans, but humans own dogs.>_

_You don’t say?_ John asked, rolling his eyes, _So what of him?_

_< He is fat and greedy in bed.>_

_You’ve slept with him?_ John asked, spinning around and gaping down at Sherlock, _Now look, another animal is one thing but…_

_< Don’t be thick. Lestrade told me he was greedy. Not that Lestrade notices. Lestrade is very giving.>_

_He doesn’t look fat to me._

_< His attitude is fat.>_

_Okaaaay,_ John frowned, _Moving along. So what does he do?_

_< Smiles with evil and has sex with Lestrade.>_

_That kinda fits what I was picturing, but I meant besides those two things._

Sherlock cocked his head to one side, giving John a curious look, _< I’ll go find out.>_

Sherlock bolted for the door, defied the sensors meant to keep him in, and was down the hall and out of sight before John could get to the doorway himself.

“Damn cat.”

_< I heard that.>_

Sherlock came back with Lestrade in tow, the handsome dog bouncing around his room and chomping on a squeaky ball. He held the ball out to John who gave him a fond pat and tossed the ball for him. Lestrade went wild, chasing it down with an eager howl.

_So what did you find out?_

< _Lestrade also likes to bottom. I want you to mount me. >_

_Well that’s… a lovely idea. Can we focus on Mycroft er… Lestrade’s owner?_

_< No. I want sex. Now.>_

John glanced at Lestrade who had made himself comfortable on Sherlock’s tattered couch. He was smiling at them and cradling his ball lovingly. To John’s shock he gave him a saucy wink and John’s cock twitched eagerly. John grinned and hurried to his room to fetch their lube, returning with it and his trousers open. He knelt on the floor and Sherlock eagerly hurried over to him, lifting his tail and presenting his bottom. John leaned down to lick at him while petting down his back and all the way up to his tail that twitched above John’s head. John flicked his tongue across his pretty little pucker until Sherlock mewed happily.

John fingered him open, his shaft aching for what was to come.

_< I want you to take me fast and hard.>_

John groaned and pulled his fingers free, pressing his cockhead against Sherlock’s gaping pucker. It was a tighter squeeze than usual because he hadn’t taken as long to prep him, but Sherlock’s purrs reassured him that he wasn’t in any pain. John pressed in deep and held himself there until Sherlock hissed and reached back to claw his thigh. John groaned and began to take him, slapping his hips into that plush bottom as he took him fast and hard. Sherlock howled in excitement, pushing back against him with those strong legs of his until John was quickly experiencing the roughest, fastest fuck of his life. He was also going to come _fast_ at this rate, but he solved that by leaning down to take Sherlock in hand. His damp prick was rock hard and a few quick tosses had him coming with a wild scream. John groaned and stilled his hips as he spilled himself inside of Sherlock, who squirmed away the second John sighed happily and relaxed a bit.

Sherlock moved over to Lestrade who hopped down and began licking at the semen that was leaking out of his bum. John chuckled and struggled to his feet, walking over to give the dog a bit of a scratch behind his ears as he slurped away at Sherlock’s arsehole.

“Good, is that?”

_< He likes to serve me.>_

_Lucky bastard,_ John thought at Sherlock.

_< You wish to be served?>_

_Sometimes. It’s a kink I’ve enjoyed a few times._

_< What is kink?>_

_Something you do in bed with someone that’s out of the norm. Like roleplaying, BDSM, or a fetish._

_< What is fetish?>_

_A fetish is something you have an intense sexual attraction to, either an object, person type, or specific part of a person. It’s so intense that it ties into your sexuality. You need it to get off._

_< I have a fetish for you,> _Sherlock informed him.

John smiled warmly and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s curly head, _I have a fetish for you too, Sherlock._

 _< Of course you do. How could you not?>_ Sherlock gloated, then curled up with Lestrade to kneed against his side.

_NOW will you tell me about Mycroft?_

_< He owns a great deal of something called ‘stock’ in the companies that make ships. Almost all ships in space are his.>_

_You mean he considers them his._

_< Is that not the same?>_

_Nevermind. Go on._

_< He is also some sort of power figure on Earth, but he stepped aside for this mission.>_

_Why?_

_< Lestrade does not know.>_

_Well he’s a smart dog if he got you that much. Can you tell him so?_

_< He does not speak as we do. You can thank him with scratches.>_

John crossed the room and gave Lestrade a firm scratch on his side, making his leg kick out. Sherlock hissed in annoyance and clawed them both before taking off in a tiff. John and Lestrade exchanged annoyed looks and then chuckled a bit.

“You’re not so bad, pooch,” John replied, giving him a belly rub.

Lestrade rolled over and spread his legs, showing off his emerging prick.

“Ahh, no thanks,” John chuckled, “Go stick that thing in Sherlock, yeah?”

Lestrade didn’t seem to understand. He started licking himself and John left him to it, deciding on a walk to stretch his legs. He cleaned up, changed, and set off for his daily exercise routine in the little gym. He had his walk around the same time every day, and people had begun to notice and look for him. Since he’d left a bit early today they were all making a show of looking at their watches.

John passed Sheldon and Leonard, having one of their deep conversations as usual. It seemed to be about someone called Batman, whoever that was, and seemed very enamoured with him. He hadn’t been aware of any bats on the ship, but he certainly wasn’t going to give them a hard time for having an unusual pet. He gave Leonard a fist bump and avoided igniting Sheldon’s wrath. He didn’t understand how that couple worked, frankly. Sheldon always seemed to be bossing Leonard around and Leonard was clearly way too kind to the sociopath.

Next John passed Wilson and his pet cat Gregory. Gregory had sticky paws. He was always taking things that didn’t belong to him. John put his hands in his pockets to avoid being pick-pocketed and gave them a friendly nod as he passed. He and Wilson didn’t get along, but not because they were hostile towards each other. They were just too different to get on.

John stepped into the gym and nearly ploughed right into none other than Mycroft Holmes. The man glared at him and he glared back. Apparently Mycroft worked out before he did each day. He’d have to remember that so he could avoid him. The man was dripping with sweat, a towel over his shoulder, his breath coming in sharp pants. He clearly took his work outs seriously.

“Sorry,” John growled, grinding his teeth in frustration.

“As you should be,” Mycroft snarled as he walked past.

“What the _hell_ is your problem?” John snapped, turning to glare at his retreating form.

“At the moment? You.”

“You know, I’m not surprised you need two dogs.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mycroft sneered.

“Or that you don’t let Lestrade top you _ever_.”

“You insolent worm!” Mycroft snarled, throwing his musky scented towel at his face.

John slapped it out of the air with a slicing motion that sent it to the floor, “You treat everyone with disdain, but you’re the cretin. I don’t care if you own half the ships in the Federation or _all_ of them, on this vessel there are two people to me: healthy and unhealthy. One day you’ll be in my medical ward and you know what I’ll do to you?”

“Enlighten me,” He growled, his voice poisonous.

“Treat you the same as everyone else,” John stated firmly, then turned and headed for his first machine, intending on running until he was as sweaty as Mycroft and then pumping weights until he stopped wanting to punch the sod.

Mycroft watched him set the incline and speed but left before he took the first step. When John finished his workout he was tired and the anger had ebbed out of him. He stepped into the shower area with a sigh of relief. Due to the limited space, the only shower facilities were connected to the gym. They were comprised of several stalls that had two sets of doors to give them optimal privacy for both showering and changing. They were even sound proof, but that didn’t make some of them feel any better. There was a long row of sinks opposite that had a collection of gear attached to it from hair supplies to nail supplies and everything in between, all suspended beneath a long mirror. Two sets of sinks were significantly lower for the shorter crewmembers. The door on the opposite side lead to the spa area fit for relaxing with a six person hot tub to the left, a three person steam room straight ahead, and a three person sauna to the right. The pets mostly used the sauna, namely the birds but John had met Sherlock leaving it on occasion. Usually with a panting Lestrade in tow.

He rinsed the sweat off of himself and then headed for the hot tub, but froze at the sight that met his eyes. Mycroft was in there, reclining against the far wall with his eyes closed. John nearly turned around and left, but worry had him heading over.

“Hey! Don’t sleep in there! You’ll get heat stroke or drown!”

Mycroft’s eyes didn’t even flutter, but he answered nonetheless, “Won’t that take away your chance to treat me like an equal?”

“I didn’t say I’d treat you like an equal. I said I’d treat you the same as every one else, as in like a _patient_. I’d prefer not to treat you like a patient who was stupid enough to fall asleep right beneath the sign that says ‘DO NOT SLEEP IN HOT TUB.”

Mycroft smiled softly, “I won’t fall asleep. Thank you for your concern, doctor.”

John was thrown by his gentle words and tone. He grunted and decided to join him in the hot tub, because he sure as hell wasn’t going to let some arsehole politician keep him from a soak. He slipped in, sitting in the lower end so he wasn’t submersed up to his neck as Mycroft was. He didn’t have a death wish. After about twenty minutes he stood up and went to the shower to rinse off with some cool water, then headed back to the tub again. As he stepped in he heard Mycroft chuckle.

“Something to add?” John asked, hackles raised.

“Just amused that you’re treating this like a greek bath. Cool shower, hot tub, cool shower, hot tub. Will you have tea next?”

“Does sound good,” John replied, “But I’m more of a coffee bloke.”

“Really?” Mycroft mused, “I could _live_ off of tea. In fact I make sure it’s always 7% of my diet.”

“Sounds healthy as long as you don’t add too much milk or sugar,” John replied, _also sounds like a touch of OCD._

 _< What’s OCD?> _Sherlock wondered.

_Wow, where are you that you can still hear me?_

_< I always hear you. You were only silent on Earth.>_

_Fascinating,_ John wondered.

_< Yes, obviously. Now. OCD?>_

_Obsessive Complusive Disorder,_ John explained, going into a long explanation. He was so caught up with his mental conversation with Sherlock that he didn’t notice Mycroft approaching him or hear him speaking. It wasn’t until the concerned man put a hand on his shoulder that John jolted and stared up at him.

“You were gesturing as if speaking but unresponsive,” Mycroft frowned, “I was alarmed.”

“I was talking to my cat,” John replied, “We have a mental link and he was asking me questions.”

“You can speak with him mentally?” Mycroft asked, his eyes turning greedy.

“Yeah, could you put on some pants?” John asked, pointing to his bare bits.

“You’re both medical and military, nudity can’t _possibly_ bother you.”

“No, nudity is fine with me,” John replied, “An arsehole’s bits being in my face for non-medical or intimate reasons aren’t. Put it away or put it to use.”

“Very well, go on,” Mycroft smirked, arching his back.

John stared.

“You offered,” He replied, and John glanced down to see his cock thickening in it’s nest of red curls.

John reached out and gripped his bollocks tightly, causing the man to yelp, “Turn your head and cough.”

Silence and stillness. He was still thickening, much to John’s surprise, but wasn’t obeying or demanding more contact.

“Well?” John asked, “Turn your head and cough!”

“I’ve… I’ve forgotten how,” Mycroft stammered.

John released him, shaking his head as he laughed and stood up to leave.

“Where are you going?” Mycoft asked, eyes wide and startled.

“To shower,” John replied, “Do you know how much bacteria are in those things? No way am I getting freaky in a tub. You want some ass you can join me in the shower, but don’t expect to top.”

John headed for the shower, not expecting Mycroft to join him but leaving the outer door unlatched anyway in case he did. He wasn’t surprised when the man took up a completely different shower.

 _< Stupid,> _Sherlock intoned, _< He should have allowed you inside him. It would have made him purr.>_

 _He seems the sort who needs a good purring,_ John chuckled as he soaped up, _With two dogs vying for his attention you’d think he’d be satisfied._

_< I don’t believe he is ever satisfied.>_

_I suppose guys like him aren’t._

XXX

John showed up to breakfast the next morning with a spring in his step and a grin on his face. Sherlock had been particularly randy and they’d fucked like animals that morning, John topping Sherlock and then having the cat pound him into the mattress afterwards. He’d always been a switch when it came to bedding men so it worked for him to both fill and be filled in one hot, sexcapade.

His cheerful mood ended when he got to the cafeteria and found everyone laughing at their pads. He grinned and walked up to Molly, but she tried to hide her pad and turned beat red. John frowned and held his hand out, staring her down until she passed it to him. On the pad was an image of John in boot camp. It was during a particularly nasty hazing in which one of the men had told John he’d fuck him if he’d put on a dress so he could pretend John was a woman. John was young and hard up for it, especially with the stress of training, so he’d done it. After all, he saw nothing emasculating about wearing a dress. It was just clothing, after all. He knew a fair few men who enjoyed the shape of what used to be called ‘feminine clothes’. This particular man was from a small town with backwards views and he’d painted John in an overabundance of makeup and taken pictures of it. John had been turned on at the time, but when the man had shown the pictures to his bunkmate he’d been horrified and turned him in. The bloke he’d dressed up for had been kicked out and the whole matter shushed up, several trainers telling him that they were worried about him. John had summarily told them he’d enjoyed the outfit and the buggering that followed and thought they were being prats. They’d admired his spunk and John hadn’t felt an ounce of shame.

That was then, this was now. Back then he hadn’t had more than one person and some of his teachers aware of the situation. Now he had an entire group of people he was going to be spending ten years in close proximity with staring at a picture of him dolled up to look like a 1900’s Terran whore. John scowled at the image, his face growing red, and moved it aside to send out a mass message.

**Problem? Last time I checked there was no shame in wearing a dress or make-up: unless of course you find women shameful.**

The room fell silent and John headed for the line to pick up his food and a hot mug of coffee. Mycroft Holmes was in the corner glaring at his pad. As John headed back to his usual table with Molly, Leonard, Sheldon, and Bernadette he saw the man look up and send the glare his way. John raised an eyebrow, cleared his throat, and sat down to enjoy his breakfast.

“I don’t see anything shameful about it,” Sheldon supplied.

“Sheldon,” Leonard stated in a warning tone.

“I’m not going to say anything mean!” Sheldon argued. John looked up curiously. Sheldon was a constant source of information both accurate and appalling, “For the record, that makeup wasn’t even the most garish I’ve seen. In Earth’s early AD period it wasn’t uncommon for men to don war paint. In a region called Scotland the men even wore dresses called kilts, long ones for daily wear and short ones for battle.”

“Yeah, I know,” John nodded, “I’ve got a fair amount of Scottish in me.”

Leonard grinned, “Good job, Sheldon! That actually _wasn’t_ mean!”

“I _am_ capable of empathy you know,” Sheldon replied, then paused, “That was empathy, wasn’t it?”

“A shining example,” Leonard nodded.

“Oh good. I keep getting it mixed up with pity, which is something I _am_ good at.”

“Yeah, we know,” Bernadette smiled, ignoring Howard and Raj as they began having nearly violent sex on the floor.

“What I want to know is who did that?” Molly asked, “Shameful or not, that was something you’d want to share in person, not on the social site.”

“Mycroft,” John replied.

Everyone except Sheldon got very quiet, _very_ fast. Sheldon on the other hand piped up, “I hope you have alternative career plans.”

“We’re on a ten year mission,” John scoffed, “And the worst he could do was dredge up a picture of me as a teen that was _mildly_ embarrassing.”

“Yeah, which means he has ten years to escalate,” Leonard pointed out, “Do you _really_ want to have an arch enemy on this trip?”

“People don’t have arch enemies in real life,” John pointed out.

< _Don’t they? That sounds boring, >_ Sherlock supplied.

“Oh?” John laughed, looking down at where Sherlock was curling around his ankles, “So who is _your_ arch enemy?”

“What did he say?” Leonard asked with a smile.

“Squirrels!” John laughed.

The table joined him and Sherlock skulked off, clearly insulted by their amusement.


	11. Chapter 11

_I totes forgot to list the captain of the vessel. It’s Irene. 13 is her 2 nd and (as implied by name) is Borg. _

John was in the middle of fucking Sherlock into the mattress when the alarm went off. He pulled free and bolted for his clothes but his damn cat wasn’t having it. He yelped as the cat tackled him, claws out, pushing him onto his back and sinking back down on his cock to ride him fast and hard.

“P-people. C-could. B-be. D-dying,” John panted.

 _< Make my cock spit and I will release you_.>

John groaned at the command, grasping the feline’s cock and stroking him in time to his eager riding. The alarm blared in his ears and his blood pulsed everywhere but in his brain where he needed it. Sherlock let out a savage cry and came hard across his body, John groaning and following along as his cat’s arse massaged his cock until he could barely breathe. Sherlock climbed off of him and casually walked back to the bed with his tail lifted and his wet arse swinging like a belly dancer.

“You’ll be the death of me!” John shouted over the alarm as he pulled on clothes after giving his crotch a quick swipe with some discarded clothes, “Or someone else!”

John ran his hands under a sanitizer, grabbed his medical bag, and bolted for the lifts. John arrived on the main deck in time to see Mycroft scowling at him from beside the captain’s seat. He’d found out soon enough that Mycroft was some sort of authority with the ability to override the captain even though he had no official rank and gave no orders. He could utter the words, ‘ready room’ and the captain would leave and return with her tail between her legs. John had been restored to a rank of captain, but his official rank was below the second. He could assume authority if the second in command was taken out in some way, but otherwise he had completely command of the medical wing and the scientists often deferred to him as well rather than disrupt the captain.

“Any injuries?” John asked, standing at the ready.

“Thankfully no,” Mycroft replied, his tone implying John would have been useless had there been.

John didn’t rise to the bait. He sat down in his seat and stared at the console. It showed them approaching a planet; a brief glance at the instruments told him it was their very own planet. They would be settling it for the next ten years, starting up the terraforming so that when farmers were ready to come in they’d have plenty of safe areas to plant fields and raise cattle. When the planet was survivable they’d get a brief leave on Earth and then take another assignment. It would be years of gruelling work in dangerous areas, fighting nature while trying to respect it and not wipe out any indigenous life. They would have to inspect the area they were going to land in _very_ carefully to make sure they didn’t cause too much damage since there would be burning at entry.

They were running scans on the surface at that moment, discussing possible trajectory. John knew his role. He would follow the initial landing party outside where he would make sure no one was injured as they put out the fires caused by their landing. Then he would help Molly get the pets comfortable as their ship was set up for the next part of the mission, the upper level being detached and the ship rearranged to become a ring. This would give them a central area safe for the animals and people to stretch their legs. The cafeteria would be laid down at one end to give it a sort of ‘snowman’ look. John thought it rather amusing, but the point was to give everyone a window view and make the cafeteria into a rec room everyone could gather in on days where there was bad weather.

John was calming some anxious pets with petting and treats while their owners were busy when the doors between the upper and lower level were finished connecting and slid open for the first time with a loud hiss. Sherlock hissed back and then let out a low growl as Mycroft Holmes came striding through with both dogs on leashes. Anthea was as stunning a dog as Lestrade was, but she was also completely aloof. She didn’t even sniff any of the animals around her, behaving as if she were the only creature on the ship.

 _Like owner like pet, I guess,_ John thought.

_< She’s a bitch.>_

_Did you mean that literally or ironically?_ John questioned.

_Literally. Why, how could that be ironic?_

John chuckled and scratched behind Sherlock’s ear as Mycroft strode forward.

“I just wanted to tell you,” Mycroft stated firmly while staring down his nose at John, “That now that we are neighbours I expect no more offensive behaviour from you.”

“From _me_?” John asked, laughing up at him from where he knelt. He stood, shaking his head in amusement, “You know, I’m 200% done with you. What _exactly_ is your point on this ship? Resident arsehole? Is that why you’re always hanging about waiting for me to prod you? Or are you still set on me _fucking_ you.”

“ _That_ ,” Mycroft scowled, “Was a one time offer, which you passed up.”

“I remember it differently,” John smiled coldly, “Particularly the part where you waved your genitals around in my face like a horny… well… dog. No offense Lestrade.”

Lestrade yipped happily and John gave him a gentle rub on his ears, but Mycroft jerked the leash back, pulling him away by his harness. Lestrade scowled up at him and so did John.

“You know,” John snapped, “You’re a real prick.”

“I thought I was an ‘arsehole’?” He asked, saying the word as if it were distasteful to him, “Have you changed your mind about bending over for me?”

“Do you live to ask people that?” John asked, “Because I’ve met rent-boys less blunt than you.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Mycroft replied implying a great deal more depth.

“Professionally! My profession! You know what,” John scowled, “You are a waist of recycled air and I’m done with this. Piss off. I’ll deal with you when you get hurt or sick and not otherwise.”

“You aren’t going to have that luxury,” Mycroft scoffed, “And neither am I. We’re going to be neighbours for the next _ten years_.”

“Switch rooms.”

“Not possible,” Mycroft replied, “Mine is the nicest.”

John opened his mouth to speak, but Mycroft beat him to it, “And before you say you’ll move I should point out that yours is where it is because the clinic is directly beside it. You could switch with Molly, but at best that will put you two doors down.”

“I’ll take it,” John replied, “If that means I don’t have to look at your pointy beak every time I step out my door.”

“Insulting my appearance, now?” Mycroft scoffed, “That’s childish.”

“As childish as you putting out a picture of me in a dress as if it’s something I should be ashamed of?”

“I was merely pointing out that I can find as much information on you as you can on me,” Mycroft replied, “That picture was identifiable and recognizable as one you haven’t shared with many.”

“So you were trying to spook me,” John scoffed, “Because I asked your dog about you? You’ve clearly got some serious issues. I don’t suppose we could agree to ignore each other for ten years?”

“You’ll still see me in the free spaces _and_ we’ll have to work together.”

“Doing _what_?” John snapped, “Do you even _work_? Have you _ever_ worked a day in your _life_? Or are you just a-“

“I’m a self-made man, for your information,” Mycroft snarled out, his eyes narrowed angrily, “I drew myself up from a common life, took over three businesses by the time I was twenty, _designed_ this ship and others of its kind, and have been the forerunner of animal rights! I’m the one who had the idea of applying the sentience test to animals in the hopes of one day raising them above the level of _slave_.”

John took a step back as if slapped. He’d never thought of them as slaves before. The term was one that left a sick feeling in the mouth and reminded him of Cardassians and Founders. Mycroft took a look at the horror on John’s face and cocked his head to one side as he narrowed his eyes.

“You treat your feline like a human- your one redeeming feature and the only reason I haven’t _crushed_ you I might add- yet you’ve never considered the fact that creatures capable of communication with us are being treated like _animals_ instead of the intelligent beings they are. Of course,” Mycroft scoffed, brushing at his shoulder in a snide way, “I use the term ‘intelligent’ loosely.”

“I can’t even believe that you’re talking about this. You treat Lestrade like a sex toy!”

“According to whom?” Mycroft asked.

“According to _him_ ,” John snapped.

Mycroft released Lestrade’s leash and turned to him. His hands flickered through a few hand signals and John stared as he communicated in a type of sign language that John was unfamiliar with. A few of the words he knew, but many were unreadable. Lestrade stared up at him for a moment, his tongue lolling out as he gazed cheerfully up at his owner. John worried about how much trouble he’d gotten him into. Lestrade answered Mycroft with a few hand signals, twitching ears, and a yip or two.

Mycroft turned back to John, “Did you follow that?”

“Well…” John struggled to reply.

“He says he told Sherlock about our sexual positions and his own wants and desires. He did _not_ explain my own. Not that it’s _any_ of your business, but I rarely have sex with Lestrade. I prefer female dogs and male humans. When I do have sex with him it’s more for closeness and I prefer to top because he is rather rough, as Sherlock has found. He is allowed- and by allowed I mean I do not restrict him- to top with anyone else including Anthea, who he beds practically daily along with your slutty little tom. Any other questions?”

“Er… no,” John replied, feeling the fool.

“Then I suggest you stick to contemplating things that are _not_ above your mental capabilities.”

With that Mycroft Holmes strode off, tugging lightly on the leashes as his dogs walked happily along. John was ready to shout something after him about the leashes but Sherlock stopped him, casually reminding him that the dogs were skittish due to the changes in their environment and the leash was likely for safety reasons. John buried his face in Sherlock’s fur and tried to quell his humiliation. Sherlock purred sympathetically for a change rather than chiding him.

_< He is rude.>_

_Yeah, but he was also right. Do I treat you well enough?_

_< Yes. I enjoy you, my pet.>_

_I enjoy being your pet,_ John smiled into warm fur before lifting his head and coaxing Lucy into relaxing again. Bernadette’s monkeys were also hanging out with him, but they were a handful so the rest of the pets were with Molly, where Mycroft was likely headed to drop off his dogs. Bernadette’s monkeys decided then to molest Lucy, who was apparently quite fine with it, and John was subjected to the awkward and slightly erotic sight of two monkey’s taking a cat from each end. Sherlock seemed unphased but didn’t really watch.

XXX

The next few weeks were so busy that there was no time for recreation at all. They were work, sleep, work, sleep. John spent ages ordering people to take a break while not taking one himself. Only Sherlock could manage to get him to take a break, and it was usually by rubbing himself up against his crotch until he got hard and gave in to his advances. Even then he was too tired to top so he ended up face down while Sherlock laid into his prostate until he came. At least now he knew that Sherlock would be able to perform his main job- keeping John relaxed and comforted.

He actually didn’t see much of his neighbour, but he did _hear_ him quite a bit. In the end he’d not asked Molly to switch because she was much more of a pushover than he was and he didn’t want the bastard bullying her. Instead he ended up laying there at night hearing him moan as he fucked Anthea or Lestrade in the next room. At some point he heard the shouts of another human, so apparently he had enough charm to get a person to bed him, but he missed the ‘walk of shame’ the next morning so he never found out who it was. He promised himself that when he got around to it he’d have _very_ loud, competitive sex with Sherlock right next to the wall they shared. Or maybe he’d just adjust the controls so he couldn’t hear it anymore. Yet he didn’t. The posh bastard was noisy in bed and it was a bit of free porn. He couldn’t dismiss the man had passion.

Finally things began to die down and John was left sitting in his clinic petting a happy Sherlock as he purred and rolled all over an exam table. Then the com unit clicked on and Lestrade’s face appeared. He was hitting the button that signified a life-threatening emergency was going on in his viscinity. John didn’t reply, he just grabbed his medical kit and fled to the location indicated on his screen, leaving Lestrade’s whimpers behind him as he hurried away. Two doors down he overroad Mycroft’s door and stepped in to find the man passed out in the middle of his floor.

“Medical emergency, Mycroft Holmes room. Molly, respond.”

“I’m here! I’m awake! I’m getting dressed!”

“Hurry,” John replied, running his medical tricorder over the man, “He’s going into shock. Heat stroke. I’m moving him to medbay.”

John hit the teleporter and moved him, landing him on the bed Sherlock wasn’t occupying. He was shooting him up with medication after medication when Molly made it in and began covering him with blankets and hooking up devices. The man’s eyes fluttered just as LEstrade bound into the room with Anthea hot on his heels. Both dogs were whining and pacing, getting underfoot without meaning to.

“Sherlock! Corral them!” John snapped.

Sherlock rolled his lazy arse off the table in slow motion, walked up to the dogs casually, and then let out a terrifying scream at them. Both dogs backed up, ducking their heads in clear submission. They stayed out of his way for the remainder of the procedure as they brought Mycroft around.

“Mycroft? Come on, Myc. Talk to me.”

“My name is Mycroft, do try to struggle through to the end,” Mycroft replied, his voice rough.

“Posh bastard,” John grumbled, “What happened to you?”

“You’re the doctor, you tell me.”

“You went into shock after suffering a heat stroke. You’re lucky I got to you in time.”

“You did promise me equal treatment.”

“I mean, that Lestrade alerted me,” John frowned.

“He’s trained to do so,” Mycroft replied, eyes fluttering. His face was still white as a sheet with red splotches. He looked half dead.”

“Stop talking,” John scolded, “I’m going to give you a sip of water, but it’s only for your comfort. You’re getting fluids and being kept at a moderate temperature by the table. Understand?”

“Obviously. My IQ is thirty-six points higher than yours.”

“And my charm index is a hundred higher than yours. Shut it. Now.”

“As you wish, Doctor,” Mycroft replied softly.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: See the changes in the tags, please. I’m going for soft and sensual D/s, not hardcore for this one, so it shouldn’t be triggery. It will be more about giving up control, not taking it. Feel free to hit me up if you want to know more about the BDSM lifestyle as I’ve been a part of it for several years now._

Mycroft Holmes was quite possibly the biggest, loudest, most ungrateful baby in the history of difficult patients. When he wasn’t attempting to climb out of bed and see to something that didn’t need seeing to he was shouting for someone to bring him something he didn’t actually require. He was apparently convinced that John was his bitch and Sherlock his personal foot warmer. Sherlock for his part agreed with the foot warming and John spent the better part of three days glaring angrily at his traitorous cat.

_< You should touch his shaft. He will be less frustrating.>_

_Shut up._

_< Should I touch his shaft?>_

_Not unless you want to lose a paw._

_< Your disinterest in sharing me with other humans is ridiculous.>_

_You have Lestrade to have sex with when I’m busy. That’s enough._

_< Lestrade is upset because his owner is in your care and refuses to do the touching.>_

_You should be as respectful of my tortured existence as this ponce’s indentured servant._

_< He is staring at your arse.>_

_And me without a lethal quantity of gas to expel._

_< Indian food?>_

_Good idea. I’ll fetch some._

Finally the bastard was ready to be discharged.

“Okay,” John sighed, stepping up with the pad in his hand that he had to sign off on to discharge the berk, “You suffered from heat stroke after standing around outdoors and yelling at people for hours on end-“

“I beg your pardon?” Mycroft snapped.

“That’s what the rest of the settlement told me,” John replied, looking up with a raised eyebrow, “You were working yourself into a froth over everything they were doing and they were basically ignoring you while toadying to keep you from annoying them overmuch.”

“No one said that!” Mycroft snapped, “Give me that pad!”

John pulled it out of reach and gave him a narrow eyed glare, “I could snap you in half. Sit back down. Regardless of the reasons of your placement in my medlab I have to go over safety procedure in heat with you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Mycroft replied.

“Then you won’t be discharged.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at John, “I can walk out of here at any point in time.”

“No, you can’t. This isn’t a civilian clinic. You need my approval or you lose all privileges, including the one that lets you walk out of here a free man.”

Mycroft’s nostrils flaired, “What will you do if I try to leave? _Stop me_?”

John smiled slowly, “You say that like it would be hard.”

“You say that as if it doesn’t _make_ you hard.”

“I’d threaten to file sexual harassment charges, but I think we’d both find that pointless. Especially after you tried to plop your bits down in my lap a while ago.”

Mycroft’s face coloured and he looked even more frustrated, “I’m leaving. You will not stop me.”

“Fuck’s sake,” John sighed as the man hopped down from the table, “It’s just a bloody speech! Shut up and listen to it. We could be _done_ by now!”

“I assure you, doctor,” Mycroft sneered, “I’m far past done with you.”

Mycroft approached the door and John sighed, “Computer, alert three-twelve, Patient Escaping. Level two.”

The computer chirped an acknowledgement and the door locked and wouldn’t open. Instead of losing his shit like John expected Mycroft smirked over his shoulder.

“Computer, this is your _owner_. Hear and obey.”

 **“I hear and obey,”** The computer replied, voice still the mechanical one it always was, but somehow it made John’s hackles rise. He must have looked alarmed because Mycroft chuckled.

“Open medbay door.”

**“Acknowledged.”**

John stared at his retreating form in disgust as Mycroft strode purposefully towards his rooms. Then he took off after him. He tackled the posh bastard in the hallway, struggling with his long limbs until he had him pinned face down on the floor with his arms dragged behind his back.

“On stardate 231456.12 you experienced heat stroke,” John informed him.

“Get off me!”

“Heat stroke is a preventable ailment. Follow these easy steps to avoid harm in the future.”

“Computer! Do something!”

“ **Please advise.”**

“You can avoid heat stroke by wearing loose-fitting, lightweight, or environmentally controlled clothing. Sun resistance pills are a requirement of Starfleet after more than one hour of exposure to stars level O thru F and after six hours exposure to levels G thru M.”

“Get off me you clod!” Mycroft shouted, sounding panicked.

**“Please specify command.”**

“Drink plenty of fluids and take sodium capsules as required by your specific body type, gender, age, and species. Ask your physician which medications may increase your risks of heat stroke.”

“Oh dear gods,” Mycroft gasped suddenly, and shivered all over. Lestrade was walking around them whining anxiously and sniffing at Mycroft and John. John wondered at his lack of involving his pet, who surely knew an attack command or two, but assumed it was because Sherlock was nearby.

“Something wrong?” John asked, glancing at Mycroft’s face. His pupils were dilated. John chuckled, “You’re a strange man. Take a break during the hottest parts of days and slowly acclimate yourself to new environments with vast climate change.”

“Are you a _machine_?” Mycroft snarled.

“As chief medical officer of this vessel I now release you from my care. Computer, please note my signature on my pad in absentia.”

**“Signature noted in absentia.”**

John stood up and Mycroft rolled over. As he’d expected the man had a prominent erection and was glaring at him angrily.

“Well?” Mycroft snarled.

“Have a nice day, sir,” John replied properly, then turned and walked away.

John turned to walk away, planning on returning to his clinic, but Mycroft snarled at him angrily and leaped at him. He spun quickly, grabbed his arm, and tossed him unceremoniously to the floor by utilizing his own momentum against him. Mycroft rolled over and stood up angrily, rushing at him again.

“I’ll teach you to-!” Mycroft howled.

John sidestepped him again, but Lestrade was barking and circling them on all fours and managed to trip him up. They both toppled to the ground with Mycroft landing on top of him. He wrapped his hands around his neck to throttle him and John’s cock started to harden. He’d always had a thing for power whether it was the physical or mental sort and this bloke had power in spades. Having him try to out-tussle him was alluring in a whole new way. John rolled them and pinned the man’s hands over his head with ease, panting as his erection rubbed against the other man’s and he hardened further.

“You’re a selfish,” John growled out, “Obonoxious, stubborn, and frankly _ridiculous_ old man!”

“ _Old_?!” Mycroft screeched, and made an honest attempt to claw out his eyes.

“You heard me, bitch!” John snarled.

 _< Get him!>_ Sherlock hissed, arching his back and jumping sideways a few times, _< Bite his neck! Fuck his arse!>_

Lestrade threw his head back and howled, a sound sure to bring people running.

John and Mycroft both froze, stared at him, then glanced down at their erections in horror.

“My rooms…?” John offered the nearby sanctuary.

“Quickly!” Mycroft panted, his face flushed bright red.

They untangled their limbs, staggered to John’s door, rushed inside, and locked their aggravated pets outside. They both stood there on the other side of the door panting, and staring at it in disgust. John adjusted the white noise panel between the doors so they could hear what went on behind them. Their colony chums were asking Lestrade and Sherlock what was wrong and trying to get a translation from their pets.

“Sherlock told Howard that they’re mating?” Bernadette’s voice asked in confusion.

“Who’s mating? Them or their owners?” Leonard asked.

“Lestrade says they were fighting,” Sheldon replied, “Should we knock?”

There was silence a moment and then Sheldon knocked three times and repeated their names… three times.

“OCD,” John muttered, and glanced down at his less prominent erection. Mycroft was likewise flaccid. He answered the door, “Can we help you?”

“We heard Lestrade howling and were worried,” James Wilson announced, his grey tom circling his ankles and glaring at Sherlock. Sherlock hissed at him. They didn’t get on.

“Oh, was he howling?” John asked, eyebrows raised, “I didn’t hear him. We were discussing the weather.”

“Yes,” Mycroft replied dryly, “Apparently it’s still _hot_.”

“Yeah, unbearable heat,” John replied.

“Oh, even _I_ don’t believe that,” Sheldon replied, turning and walking away as his interest in the situation waned.

Wilson gave them both an amused look and left, Leonard giggled a bit and followed after Sheldon. Bernadette winked saucily and dragged her horny monkeys off. Sherlock and Lestrade stared up at them.

_< You do not smell of sex. Why have you not mounted him? He wishes to be mounted until it hurts.>_

John’s cock twitched but he ignored his cat and gestured to his doorway, hoping Mycroft got the hint. Lestrade was whining miserably, rubbing his paws together and pulling at his ears.

“It’s okay, boy,” Mycroft sighed, stepping through the door and ruffling his ears.

John shut the door between them, leaving Sherlock out in the hall with the ponce. He couldn’t believe he’d been reduced to tussling with the prat in the hallway like a schoolboy… and then frotting against him like a randy teenager! It was humiliating and the prat was bound to try to use it against him. He supposed he could expect to find another embarrassing photo, though he couldn’t recall if there even was another out there.

John decided a long shower was in order to wash away the stink of rich bastard. He wasn’t a stranger to the ‘I-hate-him-so-much-it-makes-me-hard’ situation, but he wasn’t used to the other person responding. During training he’d had to sneak off for a wank every night because Sholto had mocked him regularly about his height. It had made him irrationally angry and hard as a rock. He’d tossed off while swearing under his breath and growling out the man’s name, picturing himself fucking him raw. John usually played the submissive partner in bed, loving the dominant men who surrounded him in the military, but he secretly wanted a powerful man to bow to him. The fact was that Mycroft Holmes would _never_ do that for John. He was a self-entitled, spoiled brat.

John tossed off while growling out his anger and then dressed in the front compartment of the bathroom. When he stepped out Sherlock was staring up at him with a disgusted look on his face.

_< Why do you not have him?>_

_He doesn’t want me like that._

_< Idiot.>_

_I need a good fuck. A good_ hard _fuck._

_< You have already spilled your seed and your posture says you do not wish to be mounted.>_

_Bring Lestrade to my rooms and fuck him._

Sherlock considered this and then strolled off. John had no idea if he was planning on participating, but he headed for their rooms anyway. He was sitting on his bed anxiously going through files when Lestrade and Sherlock walked in. Sherlock was pacing the floor, apparently working himself up to a state of heightened anxiety. Lestrade had brought a toy and was savaging it on the floor, growling angrily and shaking it ferociously. John put his things aside and watched them eagerly.

Suddenly Sherlock made a dive for Lestrade’s toy and he launched at him with a ferocious snarl. John was up on his feet in alarm, but he restrained his instinctive need to stop them from fighting. He’d asked for this and it seemed he was getting it in spades. Sherlock and Lestrade fought for dominance, their bodies twisting as they rolled across the ground. John bit his lip as they struggled to overwhelm the strength of the other, knocking into bed and wall in the process. John was fairly certain Sherlock wasn’t pulling his claws, but what he had in agility and weaponry Lestrade made up for in strength so it was an even game.

Lestrade let out a yelp of pain as Sherlock grabbed both ears with strong digits, claws out. He manoeuvred him like a jockey with reins and positioned himself behind the whimpering canine. Sherlock released his ears only after he’d taken the first thrust into his body. Then he grabbed his hips and began to fuck him fast and hard. Lestrade whimpered, but his cock was sliding free of its sheath and he disregarded chances to buck Sherlock off… at first. After a dozen or so thrusts Lestrade suddenly twisted, grabbed Sherlock by his shoulder with teeth and paws, and they were rolling and snarling viscously again.

John was getting hard again, but he thought it might be too soon to ejaculate again. That didn’t stop him from teasing himself by reaching inside his uniform and stroking his hard cock. Lestrade had pinned Sherlock on his back and was taking him fast and hard. Sherlock whimpered, hissed, and then fell limp as Lestrade thrust into him. Sherlock was keening for release and Lestrade was eager to provide. John watched in shock as the thrusting canine lifted himself up on his arms, bent himself at an impossible angle, and lapped at Sherlock’s leaking prick. John groaned as Sherlock came with a helpless cry. Lestrade threw his head back and grunted out his release. There was a pause and then Lestrade bounded off of him and ran to John, panting happily and wriggling in excitement as he asked for reward for his part in the ‘play’.

John laughed and ruffled his ears, “You should take up theatre.”

Then John frowned at the sight of red spots on his ears. Sherlock was sashaying over proudly, but his eye was swollen from a strong hit to it. John inspected them more and found cuts and welts all over each. He groaned in frustration.

“I’m an asshole. I can’t believe you guys… okay. Lestrade off to Molly. Go on! She’ll patch you up.”

John gave Lestrade a kiss on the head to show he wasn’t mad, but hustled him out the door anyway. He didn’t feel right treating another man’s pet without his consent and there was _no way_ he was going to knock on Mycroft Holmes’ door right at this moment. He decided to turn his sexual frustration into something else and sat about cleaning up Sherlock’s wounds before turning to his personal computer to start typing up another story about Sherlock Holmes. Lestrade had given him some inspiration and he was just typing up the initial chapter when his door chime ran.

“…’a gigantic _hound_ , Mr. Holmes’,” John read out loud to himself. The bell chimed again and he stood up to face what was sure to be Mycroft Holmes. He was right.

“Your vicious, hedonistic, sarcastic little shit of a cat just mauled my Lestrade!” Mycroft roared at him.

John frowned, “How’d you know he was sarcastic?”

“He drips it in spades!” Mycroft raged.

“They had a bit of rough sex. Weren’t you the one who told me to let animals be animals?”

Mycroft was shaking with rage, “When we get back to Earth I’m going to have you demoted down to shit shoveller, and when you leave I’ll see you maintain the lowest and most humiliating jobs there are. I will             haunt your _every step_ until the day you die, you worthless, pathetic, _egotistical_ , short little man!”

John wiped a stray bit of spit from his cheek, “Is Lestrade permanently injured?”

“No! No thanks to your-“

“Then I see no reason for our insane reaction,” John replied, “How about you come inside and I’ll fuck you until you’re nice and calm?”

Mycroft froze. John felt his stomach twist. He’d meant that to remain subtext, but apparently his out of control libido had other plans.

_In for a penny…_

“If you’re _very_ good,” John stated calmly as he regarded the man’s flushed face, “I’ll tie you up, spank you with an object of your choice, rub you down with lotion after, and then feed you your favourite desert while you lay limp and sated in my bed. It’s chocolate cake with butter crème frosting, yes?”

Mycroft’s face had gone quite shocked and he was swallowing repeatedly. There seemed to be a glimmer of _fear_ in there, and John immediately felt guilty.

“How… how did you know? Those records are _sealed_. I removed them myself. There’s no trace.”

John fought down his urge to look surprised, but he must have failed because Mycroft immediately turned from panicked and aroused to calm as a still pool of water.

“You _don’t_ know,” Mycroft replied, “Very well. Good day, Doctor.”

Mycroft turned to leave and John imagined himself picking up a stone and skipping it across the mirror-still surface of Mycroft Holmes’ mind. He wasn’t sure if it was cruelty or kindness that had him calling after him.

“I’d _never_ do what he did,” John called. Mycroft froze. John continued, “I’d stop the _instant_ you said to.”

Mycroft Holmes turned slowly around. Sherlock was purring by John’s feet, cleaning his paws and looking innocent despite his involvement in this mess. Mycroft stared at John who waited in the doorway with his face open and his stomach rolling anxiously. He had no idea what he was doing. Well, he had the BDSM stuff down to a science, but here he was manipulating someone and he wasn’t sure he should.

Mycroft Holmes turned and walked back to him, stopping within inches of his face.

“Let’s get one thing clear,” He whispered, and John swallowed at the scent of his natural odour mingling with his cologne and mouthwash, “I can smell your ignorance on your breath.”

John backed up instinctively; his mind supplying the idea that his breath was foul, but he always made sure it wasn’t so…

“See how I rattle you?” Mycroft smirked, “You aren’t _ready_ for this. You know what you want, and you _seem_ to know what I need, but you’re still uncertain. I have scars that would rival yours, my dear doctor. I shall not expose them to someone who us so easily shaken.”

With that Mycroft Holmes turned and left John with his aching erection and swirling mind.


	13. Chapter 13

Is there a writer out there interested in finishing this one? I'm just NOT able to ship Johncroft like I thought I could and I don't want this to end up abandoned. 


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